


Three Thousand Miles, Two I Love You's, One Last Goodbye

by Em_McConachie



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Attempt at Humor, Basketball Player Nicole Haught, But WayHaught by the end of Ch.4, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Jealous Waverly Earp, Mutual Pining, Nicole & Wynonna are ride or die, Nicole Haught Backstory, Slow Burn, Smooth Nicole, Thirsty! Waverly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-06-07 08:51:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 131,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15215519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Em_McConachie/pseuds/Em_McConachie
Summary: It’s summer break and Nicole, Wynonna, Waverly, and Chrissy embark on an epic road trip from Purgatory to Dallas, Texas in search of the mother that abandoned Nicole six years ago.Strap in for a three thousand mile odyssey featuring Nicole's road trip rules, a day party to remember in Utah, a drama-filled detour to Vegas, a persistent and slightly crazy ex-girlfriend, a brush with death in the Arizona desert, and two love struck idiots who might just finally get their timing right.ORA college/roadtrip au with a ridiculous amount of pining and fluff.





	1. One day you'll leave, fearlessness on your sleeve

 

> It’s no use. You can retrace every inch of all the places I’ve ever been.  
>  Trust me. I’ve looked. We’re nowhere to be found.
> 
> — Patrick Rosal, closing lines to “Crew Love Elegy”

 

It all starts with a birthday card.

It’s Nicole’s nineteenth so her father forwards it on from their little house in Purgatory to her dorm in Calgary.

It arrives in a pink envelope with delicate, purple, hand-drawn flowers inked around the edges.

Life’s good just now so she tucks it away in a drawer — she handles it carefully, like it might burn — and tries her best to pretend it doesn’t exist.

Her first year of university is frenetic and overwhelming, so that’s not so hard.

She aces her Intro to Crime, Correction and Community class and surprises herself by enjoying the English Lit unit she picks up as an interdisciplinary. She rooms with Wynonna so her social life is a blur of whiskey fueled wild nights. She works out at least ninety minutes every day on top of her regular basketball training, pushing herself to get harder, faster, stronger. It pays off. She breaks her school’s all-time record for most points scored by a rookie shooting guard.

But in those rare moments she’s alone and idle the envelope calls to her. Is the return address — a suburb in Dallas not far from the one she and her father had been abandoned in six years ago — included on purpose? Or is it an accident, a haphazard slip of the pen? There have been other cards over the years, some with smudged, illegible postmarks, but none that have given away a precise location.

Does her mother finally want to be found?

///

It’s July now, hot and sticky, and she’s back in Purgatory, washing breakfast plates in the kitchen sink while her father watches on.

“If you find her don’t expect too much Nicole,” he says. There’s caution in his voice and sadness in his eyes. “She might not be what you need her to be. Fact is she might not want to see you at all.”

Nicole’s hurting him, doing this. She’s making him feel like he isn’t enough and she hates it. “I know Dad,” she sighs. “I just have to find her. I need answers. I need…”

It’s a difficult thing to put into words.

“…closure?” he offers.

“Yeah, something like that.” She has so many questions; she’s battled long and hard to let them go, but it’s just not in her nature. Especially now that she has a definite lead. There’s a reason she’s pursuing a career in law enforcement.

“You and me both kiddo. You and me both.” He runs a hand across his stubbled jaw, his mind clearly on her runaway mother.

She’s grateful to him for not trying to stop this trip to Dallas. She knows he probably wants to, that he thinks he should. But he’s letting her spread her wings, even if it means she ends up hurting herself in the process. She loves him for it.

“Well whatever happens down there,” he says, blowing on his coffee, “the four of y’all have a hell of a time on the road. Make some good memories.”

“That’s the plan,” she promises.

“Good.” He reaches across and ruffles her hair in that way she asked him to stop doing years ago but he just doesn’t seem able to.

Three sharp blasts of a horn Nicole knows well cut into their Haught family moment.

Gus’s truck is already backing out of their drive by the time she makes it outside. She offers Nicole a friendly wave and a final honk as she pulls away. A freshly deposited Wynonna Earp — town pariah, delinquent extraordinaire and the truest friend she could ask for — is sitting on the hood of Nicole’s new car, bag at her feet, waiting.  
  
“’Sup Haught.”

Nicole doesn’t go for the hug, that’s not their thing. Instead she settles for an affectionate shoulder bump. “Glad you could make it Earp.” She nods at the to-go coffee cup in Wynonna’s hand. “Over-caffeinated already I see.”

“Well in my defense I have this kinda bossy best friend who insisted I get up at the ass crack of dawn to stick to her get-the-fuck-out-of-Purgatory schedule.”

“It’s almost eleven Wy,” she observes dryly.

“Like I said, ass crack of dawn.”

Nicole laughs, Wynonna’s sass easing some of the tightness that has taken up residence in her chest lately. She always feels a hundred times lighter with her best friend by her side. They haven’t seen each other since college broke up six weeks ago. It feels too long.

Her father is Purgatory’s Fire Chief and this summer he’d hooked her up with a wildfire prevention job in north-western British Columbia. The pay was great; a good thing given the total isolation and shifts so long and physical that she swore even her bones ached at night. A military boot camp might have been less grueling.

Wynonna throws an arm around Nicole’s neck, ruffling her hair in a maddeningly similar way to her father a moment ago. “It’s been total dullsville here without you Haught. Crazy boring. I even volunteered to help Curtis hay bale yesterday. Can you believe that? Me volunteering for manual labor?”

“That’s bad Wy. Real bad. Hey, wait a second…did you just admit you missed me?”

“Ew, no…that’d be lame.”

Nicole shoots her best friend a knowing smile and a look that’s all soft, brown puppy-dog eyes.

Wynonna sighs, beaten. ”Okay, fine. Maybe I got a little too used to having your scrawny, wannabe-flatfoot ass around all the time this year—”

“—I missed you too,” Nicole cuts in gently, sparing Wynonna the torture of having to do anymore pesky emoting.

“Of course you did you goofball,” Wynonna says. She pushes off the hood, sidestepping the awkward moment between the two. “So this,” she makes a slow, deliberate lap of the car, reaching out to run her hand over it reverently here and there, “is our sweet new ride? Seriously?”

“You better believe it,” Nicole says, her voice thick with pride. “Pretty sexy, right?”

She’s a little in love with her new car. Okay maybe a lot in love. Like she could marry it, maybe?

It’s not her first. That honor belongs to a piece-of-shit Honda Accord that gave up the ghost five months into her senior year of high school. She should’ve known Champ Hardy’s Uncle Leroy would sell her a lemon.

But this car…this car is something else entirely. It’s a white Mustang, and it’s not even ten years old. A GT convertible, with black leather seats and midnight blue striping. Its mileage is a little higher than she’d like and the AC is temperamental, but that’s okay because it’s the car she’s always wanted and it’s beautiful. Truly beautiful.

“Hell yes, it’s sexy as fuck.” Wynonna opens a door and flops into the front passenger seat, settling herself deep into the leather. Nicole slides into the driver’s seat next to her. There’s a touch of awe in Wynonna’s eyes as she checks out the interior and she’s not an easy person to impress. She’s surveying the cabin with the sort of rapt attention she typically reserves for vintage Harley-Davidson's and powdered sugar donuts.

“Dude. Level with me now. Did you rob a bank up in B.C. to afford this thing? Or maybe engage in a spot of hot wiring? We all know you’re good with your hands after all…” She waggles her eyebrows lewdly and Nicole rolls her eyes at the innuendo. “‘Cos this car is way out of your league.”

“You got me Wy. I’ve turned to a life of crime to fund my taste in fast cars and even faster women,” she deadpans.

“Smartass…although…just sayin’…that’s a version of you I could totally get on board with.”

“I bet,” Nicole huffs and rolls her eyes again. “The B.C. job paid really well,” she explains with a small shrug. “I made over half of it just from that.” There’s a sweet satisfaction in knowing that between the fire prevention gig and her other part time jobs this year she’s earned every inch of this car herself.

Once Wynonna’s done drooling over the Mustang they get down to business loading it up for the long trip ahead. Her father ambles out to say his goodbyes just as they’re finishing up and ready to hit the road.  
  
“Wynonna,” he greets. He eyes her warily. Things haven’t been the same between them since two Christmases ago, when Wynonna and Mercedes Gardner had gotten high and “accidentally” set fire to the town nativity scene, a fire he’d had to put out.

“Chief Haught,” Wynonna replies with a two finger mini-salute.

“Where’s Waverly?” he asks, looking around for the other Earp sister. “I thought Gus was dropping the both of you off here this morning?”

“Late change of plans Dad. Waves stayed at Chrissy’s last night to help her pack,” Nicole tells him, stowing the last of their bags in the trunk. “We’re swinging by the Nedley’s on the way out to pick them up.”

“Right,” he nods. He scratches the back of his neck and stands there looking awkward and at a loss. Like Nicole he’s never been good with goodbyes. ”Well…I guess this is it then. You girls stay safe out there you hear me? I mean that in all possible senses of the word.”

Beside her Wynonna chokes on her coffee. _Oh no_. Nicole has a bad feeling she knows what’s coming next.

“Spoiler alert Papa Haughtstuff: it’s a little late for the safe sex talk. That ship sailed a long time ago.” Wynonna grins wolfishly and elbows Nicole in the ribs. ”Even for this nerd.”

Father and daughter groan in unison.

“That’s not what I—” her father starts.

“Just get in the car Wy,” Nicole says, none to gently.

“So bossy,” she grumbles. But she complies. A moment later the moody, synthey sound of The Cure is belting out of the Mustang’s open windows.

“Good luck keeping that one out of trouble for three weeks on the road.”

“Thanks,” Nicole half sighs, half laughs. “I think I’m gonna need it.”

He pulls her into one last crushing bear hug. When they part she swears his eyes are wet. Her heart aches a little at that. He’s a taciturn man. She’s not sure she’s ever seen him cry, even the day after her mother left.

“Remember, whatever happens I’m here for you Nicole. Always.”

“I know Dad.”

She spares her father one last, lingering look in the rear-view mirror as they pull away. He cuts a forlorn figure: hands in his pockets, dark smudges under his eyes and rumpled Purgatory fire department t-shirt.

She feels a sharp stab of regret. She’s barely been in town for twenty-four hours and she’s leaving again.

Leaving behind the parent who stayed to chase the one who didn’t.

///

It’s only a short drive across town to the Nedley’s but it’s still plenty long enough for Nicole to get all stuck in her head about seeing Waverly again.

_Waverly_.

Nicole hasn’t seen her in four months. It’s the longest they’ve been apart since she and her Dad moved to Purgatory from Dallas back when she was thirteen.

A year ago that sort of time apart would have been unthinkable.

“You’re nervous,” Wynonna’s amused voice cuts into her thoughts. She’s eyeballing Nicole from the passenger seat, a faint smirk on her lips.

“W-what?”

“You’ve got your super serious face on. And you’re doing that thing you only do when you’re crazy stressed,” she waves a hand vaguely in the direction of Nicole’s throat. “Fussing with your collar.”

Wynonna’s right. She removes the offending, jittery hand from the collar of her navy button-down. Because most of the time Wynonna’s so crazy oblivious she sometimes forgets how sharply observant she can be when she’s sober and not caught up in her usual boy drama. And of course by now she knows all of Nicole’s tells.

“I mean I get it dude,” Wynonna continues, “Waves is a firecracker when she’s mad at someone. But she’s not mad at you, trust me. She knows you haven’t been ghosting her on purpose. Being all focused on exams, then the job in B.C.? That type A stuff is gold with her.”

“Maybe,” she murmurs, unconvinced.

There are things Wynonna doesn’t know about Waverly and Nicole. Things that make them complicated.

She doesn’t know that her best friend has had a thing for her baby sister basically since the day they met; she doesn’t know that they’d almost kissed a year ago, getting ready for Nicole’s senior prom; she doesn’t know that ever since then they’ve been doing an awkward dance where absence can so easily be mistaken for avoidance.

Waverly’s texts over the past months have been cheery and understanding, but Nicole knows her well enough to read between the lines. She hates disappointing Waverly. More than anything in the world, maybe.

“Holy shit, that reminds me. When you called last night I got so caught up in hearing all about your girl drama that I forgot to tell you the big news: Waves finally dumped the Chump.”

“Wait…what? When?” She’s so shocked by Wynonna’s words she takes her eyes off the road for more than a beat, and she _never_ does that. The car comes perilously close to mounting the sidewalk and she has to steer sharply to correct it.

“Last Friday night,” Wynonna continues, unfazed by Nicole’s poor driving. “The dumbass placed second in some lame rodeo comp over in High River and went on a bender. He drank a shit ton of rum at Shorty’s and made out with Stephanie Jones in front of half of Purgatory. Waves found out via social media, Perry sent her a link to an Instagram pic of Champ with his tongue down Steph’s throat.”

Jesus. Poor Waves. There’d been rumors Champ Hardy screwed around on her but he’d never been this blatant about it before. To humiliate her publicly like that…

“I’ll fuckin’ kill him,” she says roughly, her knuckles white as she grips the Mustang’s steering wheel like a vise.

Violence isn’t Nicole’s thing, usually, but she feels it surge through her now, a white hot wave of feral yearning to do damage to that little shit; that stupid, careless boy who’d never deserved Waverly in the first place.

“Easy there tiger. It’s already taken care of.”

She side-eyes Wynonna, who’s now looking worryingly pleased with herself. Her anger morphs into fear.

“Oh no Wy…please tell me you didn’t do anything stupid?”

Nicole feels a familiar kick of anxiety. With two stints in juvie already under her belt, her best friend can’t afford any more brushes with the law. Especially now that she’s nineteen and legally triable as an adult. Her slate’s been clean for the last couple of years, but there’ve been some close calls. Very close calls.

“Don’t get your knickers in a knot Haughtsauce,” Wynonna bristles. “Champ Hardy’s still with the living, more’s the pity. All I did was call in a favor with a couple of my Banditos pals to help me scare the bejesus out of the twerp. Peacemaker may’ve also come out to play. I tell ya that boy is dumb as snake mittens, he actually thought I’d shoot him in the crotch.”

“Damn it Wy, you’re lucky that relic didn’t explode in your face,” she hisses. “And what do you mean that’s all you did? You promised Waves and me no more guns, no more Banditos, remember?”

“Hello? You were the one threatening to go all The Godfather on his ass two seconds ago — not that I don’t appreciate that, by the way, you know it means a lot to me that you look out for Waves too — you can’t honestly expect me to sit back and do nothing when that shithead humiliated her like that.”

Nicole sighs. Because no, she doesn’t. Part of her still wants to find Champ and give him a beat down herself.

Wynonna is not for taming, deep down she knows this and has always known this. She has a good heart, maybe the best heart out of all of them. But there’s also a wildness to her, a reckless abandon and impulsiveness that’s taken her down many a wrong road in her short life so far.

“Just be careful, okay? It’d break Waverly’s heart if you ended up in trouble with the law again because of her. You’ve been doing so well lately.”

“I know,” Wynonna replies in a small voice. Nicole recognizes it as her please-don’t-remind-me-I’m-a-screwup voice.

They make the rest of the drive in a tense sort of silence.

When they reach the Nedley’s Nicole pulls in behind the Sheriff’s Crown Vic cruiser. She eyes it wistfully. _One day_.

The Nedley ranch is a sprawling, ramshackle sort of place. Whilst the main building has a slightly neglected air to it, the front yard is a blaze of carefully tended roses; a riot of vibrant reds, yellows, and pinks under the noonday sun. Town gossip holds that Sheriff Nedley’s dedication to his rose garden in summer is rivaled only by his devotion to the Purgatory Poachers curling team.

She cuts the engine and the silence between them suddenly feels oppressive. Wynonna refuses to meet her eye, preferring to pick at the fringe of her leather jacket.

“Look, I’m sorry for being all judgy.” Nicole reaches across the center console to give Wynonna’s hand a quick, reassuring squeeze. “You’re a good person Wynonna. And an amazing sister. Just…I dunno, maybe you could save the vigilante stuff for when I’m around too, so I can have your back?”

_So I can keep you safe. Keep you out of a jail cell._

Wynonna’s gaze cuts up to meet hers and she offers one of her rare, crooked smiles. “Okay Nicole. No more vengeance missions without my wing-woman.” She arches a brow. “Shake on it?”

Nicole nods. Their hands meet in an intricate series of side fives, low fives, fist bumps and hooked thumbs; their secret handshake, carefully choreographed over time, a ritual almost as old as their friendship.

Peace made, her attention wanders to the space beside the Nedley’s front door, where an alarmingly tall pile of luggage is stacked.

“Holy crap how much stuff do those girls want to bring?!”

“Cheerleaders,” Wynonna cackles, as if that explains everything. “The only way that lot is all fitting in this car is if we strap Waves or Nedley Junior to the hood.”

///

Waverly Earp is used to being left behind.

Her Momma ran away when she was four; her Daddy sought solace in the bottom of a bottle of Jack one too many times and ran his truck off of the Ghost River bridge when she was just twelve; two years later her oldest sister Willa eloped to Vancouver with Purgatory’s most notorious delinquent, Bobo Del Ray, and hasn’t even bothered to as much as call since.

And then there’s Wynonna, a thunderstorm in human form. The badass, fiercely loyal sister she loves more than air itself. But Wynonna’s itchy feet and knack for finding trouble mean that even she’s been far from a constant in Waverly’s life. Sometimes for the good, like attending university this year in Calgary; sometimes for the bad, like last summer when she rode with the Banditos, and sometimes because of run-ins with the law, like her two stints in juvie.

Waverly isn’t gonna be left behind this summer, though. Nuh uh. When Wynonna’d told her she and Nicole were spending July road tripping to Dallas to track down Nicole’s long-lost mom Waverly’d bossed her way into an invite and scored one for Chrissy too.

Splitting gas money and motel rooms as many ways as possible only makes sense, after all.

Waverly’s good at denial, heck if it was a country she’d be its queen. So she’s avoided dwelling too hard on the real reason she so desperately wanted to tag along on this trip: her burning desire to spend some quality time with a certain redhead.

Still, right now she can’t help but take her time drinking in the sight of Nicole Haught stepping out of something that looks a helluva lot like a Mustang convertible. Her breath catches as Nicole leans her tall frame against the side of the car, slips on a pair of aviators and flashes a grin, killer dimples and all, at something Wynonna says.

_That dazzling smile_.

“Waverly Earp are you ogling Nicole Haught from behind my Daddy’s lace curtains like some sort of creeper?”

She yelps at the sound of her best friend’s voice so close to her ear.

“Jeez Chrissy, wear a bell or something. And no, I wasn’t _ogling_ Nicole. I, um, thought I heard a car and was checking to see if it was them,” she lies.

Right about now she’s really regretting the night she and Chrissy demolished a bottle of Wild Turkey together, when she’d blurted out the whole sorry story of her attempt to kiss Nicole last year. At the time she’d felt like if she didn’t tell someone, anyone, she’d explode. But now…

“Uh huh,” Chrissy says, clearly not buying it. “You’ve been standing there staring for like five minutes Waves.” She peers over Waverly’s shoulder. “Sweet Jesus, Nicole is looking kinda fine these days. College looks good on her.”

“I-I guess.”

Who’s she kidding? Nicole looks amazeballs.

She seems somehow taller, leaner, everything about her more defined, than the last time Waverly saw her. Her hair is slightly longer, cut in fashionable red waves that fall just above her shoulders. There’s a new confidence, too, in the way she holds herself. Nicole has always been comfortable in her own skin, it’s something Waverly envies. But there’s extra swagger in her step now.

Maybe it’s her success on the basketball court this year. Maybe it’s her time in British Columbia, living in the wilderness, learning to fight fires. Or maybe it’s dating Shae Pressman, the much older, dark-haired, dark-eyed medical student that even Wynonna seems intimidated by.

Whatever the reason, Nicole’s radiating an easy confidence that borders on the cocky and damn it if Waverly doesn’t find that just a little bit sexy.

_Great_. Because she needs more fuel for this ridiculous crush on her sister’s best friend.

Chrissy hip checks her, breaking her out of her Nicole-induced daze. “Nope, you’re not into her _at all_.” She rolls her eyes at Waverly, amused. “Come on, let’s go see your girl.”

“Chrissssy,” she groans, “don’t call her that! She has a girlfriend.”

Waverly turns away from the window to vent at her friend some more, but Chrissy’s already gone, bounding out the front door like an exuberant puppy.

She smiles at that. Chrissy’s been in high spirits the last couple of days, excited for the trip ahead. Like Waverly she’s never been out of Purgatory for much more than a day at a time.

She follows her friend outside and watches on as Chrissy flings herself at Nicole, who catches her with practiced ease. They do a half twirl before Nicole sets her down gently, laughing, and Chrissy starts peppering Nicole with questions about her trip to B.C. and exclamations over her new car.

Meanwhile Wynonna is rummaging around in the Mustang’s trunk, moving stuff around like she’s trying to solve a slide puzzle and muttering darkly about “cheerleaders”. Which Waverly just finds bizarre. But hey it’s ‘Nonna, so…

Nicole glances over Chrissy’s shoulder and her easy smile falters as she registers Waverly’s presence.

The redhead removes her sunglasses and their eyes lock for a long moment.

So, huh. Nicole’s soft brown gaze is as expressive as ever, and all of that cool self-assurance from earlier has evaporated. The look she sends Waverly now is a heady cocktail of nerves and adoration.

It gives Waverly a tiny thrill and a rush of confidence to know she can still affect her like that.  
  
She sashays her way over to Nicole’s side and smiles brightly up at her. “Hey stranger.”

“H-hey…Waves.” Nicole shoves her hands into her back pockets and rocks nervously on her heels.

Seriously? Since when is Nicole Haught shy? “C’mere you dork.” She half-lunges at the redhead, pulling her into a tight hug, desperate to erase the remaining distance between them.

It’s a little awkward at first but once Nicole relaxes they fit together perfectly, just the way Waverly remembers.

She closes her eyes, taking a moment to fully breathe in Nicole’s presence. Around them the air is heavy with the fragrance of Sheriff Nedley’s blooming roses. It’s sweet and cloying. But pressed up against Nicole’s shirt, Waverly still manages to catch the familiar scent of vanilla and she revels in it. A wave of calmness washes over her and she sighs contentedly.

Nicole has always been her safe haven. With her gone this year everything has felt askew, like the planet had slipped off its axis.

She knows she should be upset at her for staying away from Purgatory for so long, for the scant phone calls and text messages. Instead all she feels right now is relief. Relief that they’re spending the rest of summer together; that they’re going to the same university next semester; that their time apart is done for now.

Aware that this hug has gone on for far too long she loosens her grip and takes a step back, a little dazed. Chrissy’s watching on smugly, she shoots Waverly a you-go-girl wink and saunters off to chat with Wynonna.

“So,” Nicole frowns, “I heard about Champ.”

Waverly ducks her head, embarrassed. The whole frickin’ town seems to know about the show Champ and Steph put on at Shorty’s last Friday night.

She’s not even that angry about it, that’s the crazy thing. Wynonna had gone after Champ half cocked, because, well, _Wynonna_ , but Waverly just feels numb. She’d seen it coming a mile away. She’d been neglecting him for weeks and Champ Hardy is nothing if not an entitled boy-man with certain needs he expects to be met.

“Eh, I’m not exactly devastated. It’s not like we had an epic, Notebook-worthy romance going on,” she says, voice flat. “High school’s over and now we’re over. It’s a lot like you and Beth last year, I guess. Drifting apart after graduation…”

Nicole huffs. “Except Beth never cheated on me Waves…and sure as hell not like that, in a public place with one of my best friends. That was an asshole move. You deserve so much better than that dolt. You always did. You know that right? He was never good enough for you. He’s a…a…”

Nicole stops, composure momentarily lost. A muscle ticks in her jaw and her fists ball by her side. Waverly’s pulse quickens. It’s rare for Nicole to lose her cool. When she was younger she found protective Nicole sweet. Now it does something else to her; something far more adult.

She reaches out and wraps a hand around one of Nicole’s balled fists. Nicole relaxes and allows Waverly to entwine their fingers together. “Thank you for saying that. F-for caring…”

“Of course I care Waves,” Nicole says softly. “I’m sorry I’ve been so unavailable lately. I’ve been a shitty friend.” Her brown eyes cloud with guilt. “I missed your eighteenth, and your graduation, your valedictorian speech…”

“—Shh. It’s okay Nic, I get it. ‘Nonna told me you’ve had a lot on your plate.”

“No…I mean yeah, that’s true. But there’s other reas—”

“’Sup slackers,” Wynonna interrupts, accosting them from behind and slinging an arm around each of them. “Is Haughtdamn talking your ear off about her new wheels babygirl? Classy choice, eh? Gotta say I had her pegged as a nerdy Prius type, or maybe choosing a boring ol’ Subaru Outback, to ya know, represent.”

Of course. Trust her sister to butt in at exactly the wrong moment. Now she’s gonna be left wondering what Nicole was going to say for god knows how long.

“Excuse me?” Nicole says, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know the Outback is a classic.”  
  
“Dude, I guess…if your idea of classic is the auto equivalent of Birkenstocks,” Wynonna chortles. “Now this gorgeous ‘Stang, on the other hand, is a total chick magnet. Operation-get-my-best-friend-laid-this-summer just got a whole lot easier. You’re gonna be beating the ladies off with a stick Haughtpants.”

What the heck? Why is her sister blabbing about hooking Nicole up with random skanks? Has she forgotten her best friend is in a committed, long-term relationship with a soon-to-be-doctor? Unbelievable. University life must have sunk Wynonna’s already lax morals to new lows.

“Honestly Wynonna!” Waverly pokes a finger at her sister’s chest, annoyed. “Nicole has a _girlfriend_. It’s bad enough that you’re constantly pin-balling between boys without you trying to turn Nicole into a cheating hussy too.”

“Woah, dial it down a notch you adorable psycho. No one’s cheating on anyone.” Wynonna shoots a questioning look Nicole’s way. “You haven’t told her yet?”

“I haven’t exactly had a chance,” Nicole mutters.

“Right, well your info’s out of date babygirl. Haughtstuff and Shae are officially splitsville.”

“More like on a break, actually,” Nicole corrects, “but yeah things don’t look good.” She sighs and looks down at her hands dejectedly.

“Oh,” Waverly says, stunned.

_Son of a gun_.

Talk about being out of the loop. This news is going to take some processing. Whilst Waverly may not have liked it, she’d thought Nicole and Shae were in it for the long haul. When she’d met Shae for the first time at Christmas it was obvious the sophisticated brunette had her hooks in deep. Nicole had seemed smitten in a way she never had with her previous girlfriend Beth Gardner.

Curiosity gets the better of her. “W-what happened?”

“It’s complicated and she doesn’t want to talk about it,” Wynonna recites, cutting in before Nicole has a chance to speak for herself. “I’m sure you’ll crack once we get some liquor into you though, huh Haught?”

Nicole just grunts, like she’s trying to give Wynonna as little ammunition here as possible.

“I’m so sorry Nic,” Waverly says, reaching out to rub Nicole’s arm, aching to offer the redhead comfort even if a small part of her is selfishly doing a happy dance about this development. “I thought you and Shae were the real deal. I mean she seemed like…”

“—A black hole of suckitude? A controlling, nymphomaniac ice princess? Christian Grey crossed with Nurse Ratched?”

It’s fair to say that Wynonna and Shae Pressman do not get along.

“Hey now Earp, careful there. She’s still my girlfriend, sort of. Technically we’re just on a break, remember?”

“Break, Shmake. You’re done dude. How many couples that go on breaks ever get back together? I’ll tell ya. Nada. Anyway, this is a good thing, a good day. For both of you. You’ve both been liberated from shitty relationships. You should be partying. In fact,” Wynonna snaps her fingers, “I gotta plan. First decent dive-bar we find, the four of us are hitting it up and drinking a shit ton of tequila to celebrate.”

Waverly could do with a proper blow-out to mark her breakup with Champ. There’s nothing like a little alcohol poisoning to soothe the soul and to help expunge her memories of that no-good shit ticket. But her sister’s plan is fatally flawed. “Sounds great ‘Nonna. Teeny, tiny problem though…”

“What’s that Waves?”

“You do know the legal drinking age in the States is twenty-one, right? There won’t be any dive bars for us on this trip, or any bars for that matter.”

It figures that her sister would just assume the drinking laws are the same everywhere.

Wynonna cackles. “You really think I’m that much of a dumbass sis? You’re not the only Earp capable of a little research and forward planning you know.” She reaches into her back pocket and pulls out four plastic cards, handing one to each of them. “Like I’d let those Southerners and their dweeb rules get in between me and whiskey.”  
  
Well snap. Wynonna has gotten them all fake IDs.

She turns hers over in her hand, inspecting it with wonder. It’s a hyper-realistic looking Montana ‘The Big Sky State’ driver’s license featuring her photograph (lifted from her Instagram?) and a fake name, _Wendy K. White_. Apparently Wendy’s twenty-two.

“You don’t think _Ginger Sparks_ is just a smidge on the nose Wy?” Nicole says dryly, staring at her own ID with an expression that’s alternating between amused and panicked. “Where did you get these anyway?”

“Eh, a friend of a friend of a friend.”

Waverly and Nicole share a knowing, uneasy look. In Wynonna-speak that’s code for the Banditos.

“Wynonna—”

“Don’t start Haught. You’re not gonna get caught, they’re top shelf fakes. The best of the best…”

Nicole continues to look down at her ID dubiously, though. Waverly feels a pang of sympathy. Nicole wants to be a police officer once she’s done with her degree and that means keeping her record squeaky clean. She can’t afford to take unnecessary risks. Not to mention she’s naturally just a law abiding type of person.

“I don’t know Wy—”

“Relax you nerd. It’s a fake ID, I’m not asking you to open a meth lab with me!”

“—Shoot guys, Daddy’s coming over to say goodbye,” Chrissy cuts in, “quick, stash the IDs.”

Chrissy’s right, Sheriff Nedley _is_ waddling their way. The four of them scramble to shove their contraband IDs somewhere out of sight. A flustered looking Nicole ends up dropping hers down the front of her shirt, into her bra. Waverly feels a little jealous of that card; she has a long-standing fascination with Nicole’s boobs.  
  
“You girls ready to roll out?” The Sheriff drawls when he reaches them. He looks suspicious, but then Randy Nedley always looks suspicious of everything and everybody.

“Y-yes Daddy,” Chrissy stammers, trying her utmost best to look all casual and innocent.

“Alright then.” He slaps Nicole heartily on the back. “Could I have a quick word with you in private first Nicole?”

“Uh, sure thing sir,” Nicole says, startled. She shoots them all a deer-in-the-headlights look as she follows him over to his Crown Vic Cruiser.

“Oh man, poor Haughtstuff’s gonna have a coronary with that fake ID stuck to her boobs while Nedley grills her about whatever it is he wants to grill her about,” Wynonna crows in delight.

“You’re so mean Wynonna,” Chrissy chuckles.

Waverly starts to say something but gets totally sidetracked admiring the way the redhead’s skinny jeans hug her tall frame as she strides purposefully after Sheriff Nedley.

Her mind ping-pongs back to the bomb her sister dropped just moments ago. Nicole Haught is single now? Sort of?

She’s in so, so much trouble.

///

Nicole likes to think that in a tight situation she’s pretty clutch.

As a little girl, while her friends were dazzled by and dreaming of becoming Disney Princesses, she spent her Saturday mornings watching reruns of the classic Hanna-Barbera cartoon Lucky Luke and idolizing its protagonist — the laconic, cool-as-ice hero and master gunslinger. Oh how she worshiped Luke, even if he did suffer from chronic hero syndrome and wander around chewing on a wheat stalk.

Over time Lucky Luke became a kind of spirit animal to her. So much so that today, at nineteen going on twenty, there’s nothing she prizes more in herself than her cool, calm, and collected disposition.

That steadiness serves her well on a basketball court and she hopes it will one day as a police officer, too.

Right now, though, she’s not feeling all that clutch.

Between hearing about Waverly and Champ-the-Chump’s breakup, having her brain turned to mush by that oh-so intimate hug from Waverly, Wynonna unveiling her latest criminal hijinks, and then having the fruits of said hijinks wedged uncomfortably between her bra and her left boob, she’s fraying.

Definitely fraying.

The intense I’m-sizing-you-up stare the Sheriff is currently leveling at her isn’t helping matters. For all his good ‘ol boy shtick Nicole knows he’s sharp as a tack; a Jedi master when it comes to reading people.

The midday sun is beating down on them something fierce and she feels sweat begin to pool where the fake ID is sticking to her skin.

_Hold your nerve Haught. This man is a teddy bear at heart. You know it._

Her Dad and the Sheriff are drinking slash curling buddies so the Haughts and the Nedleys are a close-knit bunch. Heck the Sheriff is practically a second father to her. Still, she’s not sure he’d react well to her reaching down and pulling a fake ID out from her cleavage.

Nedley clears his throat. “Your Daddy told me you topped a couple of your classes this year,” he says, breaking the silence at last, voice gruff. “Congratulations Nicole.”

“Thank you Sheriff.” Surely he hasn’t called her over for a private chat about her academics, has he?

“You still meanin’ to head to the academy in Regina once you’re done in Calgary?”  
  
“I am sir.”

Nedley grunts approvingly.

“I was wonderin’ if that summer job your Daddy set you up with might’ve tempted you into thoughts of becoming a hose jockey instead?”

“No chance,” she answers with an assured smile. “My mind’s set on joining the force and nothing’s gonna change that. Not my Dad and sure as heck not six weeks stuck in the boonies with a bunch of probie firefighters who don’t have a handle on basic hygiene.”

“Good…good,” he drawls, coming close to cracking a rare smile. “You’ve got an excellent head on your shoulders Nicole. I reckon you’ll make a fine deputy one day. Truth be told we’re not far off needin’ some new blood here in Purgatory ourselves and I’d prefer not to end up having to deputize some fool like Champ Hardy. So when you’re all done, when that day comes, you keep us in mind. You hear me?”

“Y-yes sir…thank you sir. I will.” His suggestion catches her by surprise and she feels a rush of warmth towards him. It’s a long way off, that day — at least two and a half years. But it’s nice to think that at the end of it all she might have the option, at least, to come home to Purgatory and be mentored by someone she respects as much as she does Randy Nedley.

“Now, I need you to do me a solid Nicole,” he says, tone grave. “As you’ll rightly know this is Chrissy’s first big trip and trouble, well it has a way of finding people on the road…”

She relaxes a little, understanding at last why he’s called her over for this private chat.

Nedley rubs an agitated hand across his bristled jaw. “Frankly there are a lot of weirdos out there. And four young gals on your own, it has me a little concerned. I need you to look out for her Nicole, take care of her for me.”

A familiar heaviness descends. It’s not new, this weight on her shoulders. She’s used to being the responsible one; the designated driver, everyone’s first phone call, the go-to-girl for check-ins from anxious parents. She’s learned to lean into it, to accept that it’s just who she is.

“I’ll keep her safe sir. I promise you,” she pledges solemnly, holding his gaze for a long moment to indicate how seriously she takes her commitment to Chrissy’s well-being.

Nedley gives a little nod and claps her on the shoulder. “I ‘preciate it, Nicole. I know she’s meant to be all grown up now,” he says, looking a little sheepish, “but you can’t blame a man for worryin’. Especially with _that one_ along for the ride.”

She follows his gaze to her best friend, who’s goofing around with Chrissy trying to figure out how to put the Mustang’s top down.

Wynonna may as well have the word ‘trouble’ stenciled over her head the way the Sheriff’s glare is drilling into her. “That girl is a walking bad decision,” he grouches.

Nicole takes in the leather jacket, the black nail polish, the ‘Whiskey Bent and Hell Bound’ t-shirt, and the I-give-zero-fucks way she holds herself. She looks the part of the small town bad girl, that’s for sure. But appearances can be deceiving. Wynonna Earp isn’t the bat-shit crazy hellraiser most of Purgatory has her pegged as.

“Wynonna’s had a tough time of things. She’s a good person, better than most people see.”

“Little Waverly had a tough time of things growing up too,” the Sheriff grumbles, “but you don’t see her carrying on with guns and runnin’ around with biker gangs.”

Nicole’s gaze drifts across to Waverly. She’s sitting on the hood of Nicole’s car, watching the two of them curiously, a ray of sunshine in a yellow tank top and denim cutoffs. She wonders if Waverly’s been watching them this entire time. Their eyes meet and Waverly does her adorable little smile and wave thing. Nicole waves back, a dopey grin blooming.

“Waverly is…special.”

There’s a softness in her voice that the Sheriff must catch because when she wrenches her attention away from the younger Earp he’s giving Nicole a knowing look. Darned Jedi mind-reading tricks.

For a moment she thinks he’s going to acknowledge the unsaid, that he’s going to say something pseudo-fatherly and encouraging. If so he chickens out. “That she is,” he agrees.

They start making they way back to the others. As they walk Nedley claps her on the back one last time. “I hope you find what you’re looking for out there kid.”

When she looks over at him she doesn’t see the same concerned sadness in his eyes that she had with her father. Instead she sees affection and understanding; understanding that sometimes you have to retrace your steps to find your way forward in life.

“Me too Sheriff.”

///

Waverly’s never been in a convertible before and she has to admit it’s kind of nifty having the wind blowing in her hair and the deep blue sky wide open above her as they glide through town on their way to Highway 1.

‘Course it’d be even more enjoyable if she was up front with Nicole but frickin’ Wynonna has called dibs on riding shotgun for the start of their first leg to Great Falls, Montana.

No amount of pouting or pleading has been effective in dislodging her.

When the standoff over the front-seat had gotten heated Nicole had deftly defused things by drawing Waverly close, a gentle hand at the small of her back and her lips so near to Waverly’s ear she’d shivered. “Hey, I got you Wave. Wy’ll get bored and wanna nap in the back within an hour or two. Trust me.”

Waverly thinks Nicole can convince her of just about anything when she’s being all soft and easy like that.

They’re cruising past the library now, Purgatory’s oldest and most distinguished building. It’s Waverly’s happy place, where she first discovered the joy of research and first encountered the musky, yet strangely beguiling scent of timeworn books.

On the outskirts of town they pass the empty lot that long ago was Purgatory’s drive-in movie theater. It’s a popular late-night hookup spot and it’s here that she had her clumsy, fumbling first time with Champ Hardy in the back of his Chevy pickup while Brad Paisley crooned in the background. The ultimate country-girl cliché.

Half a mile later they pass the town’s cemetery where a long line of Earps lie buried, including her father Ward. She still leaves fresh peonies for him every second Sunday, like clockwork, even though she’s pretty sure he never loved her.

Finally, when they reach the town limits sign — a 1950s styled ‘y’all come back now’ affair — she feels a stab of something happy and sad all at the same time. It hits her then that she’s leaving, really leaving, and everything’s about to change. After this trip university and a new life in Calgary awaits.

As much as she loves Purgatory, it’s become her cage. Yet leaving that cage is frightening too. This town’s all that she’s ever known and the outside world suddenly seems like the great unknown, ominous and menacing.

Nicole must sense in that uncanny way of hers that she’s freaking out because she catches Waverly’s gaze in the mirror and holds it for a beat.

It’s an amazing thing when someone sees you as the person you wish you are. Nicole’s looking at her in a way that makes her feel brave, that makes her believe she can triumph over anything.

The speed limit changes. Nicole hits the gas and the car surges forward, hurtling them towards the horizon.

And for a single, precious moment Waverly Earp believes she can fly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thanks for reading if you got this far. :) 
> 
> I haven’t written anything in ages and never fanfic, so there’s a lot of rust and some unfamiliarity. Honestly I have no idea if this is readable so I'd appreciate feedback, good or bad. These characters are so much fun to write, though, and I figure you all will forgive me if I've murdered them too badly.
> 
> I have the whole fic plotted out and a key scene at the end written but I’ll be writing as I go (which is apparently a bad idea, but oh well). I’m a glacial writer and prefer long chapters so I won’t make promises on update timing, just that I will finish this darned thing because I’m nothing if not a completionist. (Also I have like 30K of notes I don’t want to waste!)
> 
> I don’t have a beta and have no idea how to get one so all mistakes are my own and I’m sure there are plenty!
> 
> If you’d like to say hi my Twitter is @McconachieEm


	2. You can't plan on the heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang heads to Montana. Nicole lays down some rules. Wynonna wreaks havoc and hatches a plan. Waverly recalls a special moment from the past before getting some unpleasant news in the present. Chrissy springs a surprise. And Nicole and Waverly share a bed before *finally* having a heart-to-heart (well, sort of).

 

**Day 1: Purgatory — Great Falls (MT)**

> I'll be the platform shoes  
>  and undo what heredity's done to you  
>  You won't have to strain to look into my eyes  
>  I'll be your winter coat,  
>  buttoned and zipped straight to the throat  
>  With the collar up so you won't catch a cold
> 
> \- The Postal Service, Brand New Colony. 

  
“Okay, now we’ve made it to Highway 1 I think it’s a good time to run through the road trip rules,” Nicole announces breezily.

“Road trip what what?” Wynonna croaks from beside her. They’re barely an hour out of Purgatory and she’s already napping. Nicole swears her best friend has an on/off switch just like a toddler; she’s either a fast-talking, wisecracking, hyperactive ball of energy or she’s out like a light.

“I figure if we’re gonna be stuck in a car together for most of a month we should set some ground rules,” Nicole explains. “So…road trip rule number one: whoever’s driving gets to choose the tunes we listen to. They can elect to defer that to the navigator or someone in the back if they prefer, but the driver always has final say.”

“Hell no,” Wynonna says as Waverly groans from the back seat. “I am not listening to that auto-tuned pop puke that Chrissy and Waves inflict on themselves.”

“Are you frickin’ kidding me Nicole?” Waverly complains, just as aggrieved. “We’ll have to endure hours of screeching death metal whenever ‘Nonna drives. We’ll be permanently deaf and hellbent on joining a satanic cult before we even make it to Montana.”

Wynonna grumbles some unintelligible curse words under her breath.

“Sorry. But the rules are the rules,” Nicole singsongs, unfazed. “I’m just tryin’ to keep things fair.”

Chrissy takes advantage of the dead silence that greets this statement to pipe up from the back, “Um…actually I don’t know how to drive stick…so it’ll be just the three of you guys doing the driving. Sorry.”

Nicole meets her gaze in the rear-view mirror and sends her a reassuring nod and soft smile. “That’s no problem Chrissy.”

“Phew,” Wynonna makes a show of wiping at her brow, “only half as much death-by-Bieber then.”

“We.do.not.listen.to.Bieber.” Waverly grinds out, jaw clenched. “Taylor Swift and Katy Perry sometimes maybe—”

“Kill me now,” Wynonna whines, slumping lower in her seat.

Nicole chuckles. The Earp sisters have plenty of things in common but their taste in music is definitely not one of them.

“Road trip rule number two,” she pushes on. “The ‘Stang will be driven at or below the local speed limit at all times.” She states this mostly for the benefit of Waverly. Wynonna will likely ignore her anyways, she’s incapable of driving any way other than like a bat out of hell. Both Earps are wild, erratic drivers with lead feet. She’d prefer to avoid tickets and keep the Mustang in one piece, but she fears that may require a minor miracle given the length of the trip.

“Seriously dude? This is a proper pony car.” Wynonna reaches forward to stroke the car’s dash reverently. “What’s a few tickets compared to the pure joy of allowing it to stretch its legs now and again?”

“American cops can be scary,” Nicole replies darkly. “Really scary.”

“Pah,” Wynonna waves a dismissive hand, “we’re four hot girls in a Mustang convertible. If we get pulled over we can just bat our lashes, get our puppies out and—”

“Wynonna!” Waverly snaps. “Do you have any idea how insanely sexist that sounds? And what if it’s a lady cop?”

“Then we’ll get Haughtstuff here to flaunt her many assets…”

“What if she’s a straight lady cop?”

“Like that makes a difference. If I had a dollar for every time Haught’s dimples made a straight girl swoon—”

_Oh God._

“Moving on,” Nicole cuts in, blushing slightly and trying to head the two Earps off before they start sparring again. “Road trip rule number three: the ‘Stang will not become a mobile dumpster. All of the trash we accumulate from one rest stop needs to be deposited at the next rest stop…”

“Got it Chief,” Wynonna faux salutes. She turns to face Waverly and Chrissy and stage whispers, “Psst. Don’t look now but I think that bossy bastard Napoleon may have reanimated and body snatched Haught…”

///

It’s late afternoon now, the sun’s low on the horizon and the Canadian Rockies are fading fast from their mirrors.

They’re coming out of Lethbridge so the scenery ahead is all flat, dry prairie as far as the eye can see. Nicole thinks it’s beautiful in a stark kind of way, but the gusty Chinook winds mean they’ve had to put the Mustang’s top back up.

The younger Earp is finally riding up front with Nicole, Wynonna grumpily relegated to the back seats with Chrissy.

Waverly being Waverly she’s brought a big-ass old fashioned map to navigate by, something Nicole finds adorable but Wynonna and Chrissy both think is ridiculous because, ya know, they have phones and Google Maps now.

Ever the over-zealous planner, Waverly’s map is annotated with all of the places she wants to stop, color coded by type. Pink for postcard-perfect little towns, red for museums, green for national parks, blue for well rated restaurants and diners. She’s using her phone to research new stuff to add to it as Nicole drives, reading out random funny reviews to her from TripAdvisor.

It’s nice this, the two of them side-by-side, the open road ahead. It feels right.

Waverly keeps stealing little glances at her when she thinks Nicole isn’t looking and she has no idea what to make of that.

Nicole rolls her neck, conscious that a crick is starting to set in, and rubs at tired eyes. She’s going to need a break soon.

“I can take over if you like,” Waverly says softly.

“Hmm?”

“The driving. I can take over. You look exhausted.”

“Oh, right.” Nicole grins. “I dunno Waves, are you sure you can handle this baby?” She guns the Mustang’s engine a little extra, just to hear it purr. Then she grimaces because, damn, that came out sounding way more sexual than she intended. “I mean, yeah, that’d be great. How ‘bout I get us over the border and you take over from there? We’re only about twenty miles out. Sound good?”

“Mhmm sounds like a plan…and for the record Nic, you’d be amazed by what I can _handle_ ,” Waverly teases with a little wink.

_Huh, are they flirting right now?_

Nicole’s phone chirps then, signaling a new text. Shae’s name lights up on the display and her heart sinks. She resists the urge to take it from the cup holder where it’s resting; she knows better than to text and drive. It dings again. And then again. More messages from Shae. Next to her, Waverly eyes it warily, like it’s a grenade.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Wynonna’s arm appears abruptly from the back and she whips away the device just as another message comes in. “How am I supposed to nap when your nut-job ex is blowing up your phone? At least turn the damned thing to silent.”

“Technically we’re not broken up Wy,” she reminds her best friend, in a robotic voice, for what feels like the zillionth time.

“Uh huh…well I can fix that.” Wynonna starts tapping away. “Dear crazy ex GF,” she reels off as she types, “can’t talk right now, got my hands full with two blonde hotties in the bathroom stall of a truck-stop near Milk River. Laters babe. xxx.”

Why oh why had she ever let Wy get her devious hands on her passcode?

“Wynonna! Give that phone back right now,” Waverly demands, contorting awkwardly in her seat in an effort to snatch it out of her sister’s hands.

“Oh reee-lax nerds. I’m not actually sending it. And come on, it’s boring back here…you can have it back once I’m done perusing Haught’s latest pics. I have six weeks to catch up on ya know.”

“Wy, remember the chat we had about boundaries and my phone?” she chides. The “chat” in question had come after Wynonna’d changed Nicole’s unlock screen to a butt-naked shot of Jennifer Lawrence and her background photo to a bottle of hot sauce.

“Not really. Was that the night we had the nachos extravaganza at Los Chilitos? Because you know when nachos is involved nothing else gets a look in.”

Nicole sighs. There’s nothing for it but to wait for the inevitable lewd commentary on the bikini pic she knows is buried in there somewhere.

Mere moments later Wynonna whistles long and low. She pops her head between the two front seats, Nicole’s phone gleefully in hand.

_Here it comes._

“Holy abdominal muscles Haughtstuff,” Wynonna pinches the screen to zoom in. “Are these real?” She reaches forward and tries to lift up Nicole’s shirt.

“Hey, driving here crazy pants!” Nicole yelps. The Mustang swerves wildly as she swats away Wynonna’s hand. “Quit feeling me up Earp or we’re going to end up in a ditch.”

Undeterred, Wynonna squints at her stomach and then back at the phone. “Shit they are real. Firefighting sure did a number on you.”

“Yeah well lugging a thirty pound pack twelve hours a day for forty days does that for you,” Nicole huffs. “Wait…you seriously think I’d photoshop my abs?”

“It’s a thing now. People paste their heads onto celebrity’s bodies.”

“I’ve heard about that. It’s a _porn_ thing Wy,” Nicole mutters. “Trust you to know all about it.”

“Whatever dude.” Wynonna punches Nicole lightly on the shoulder, all go-get-em-tiger. “One thing’s for sure. We’re so not going to have any trouble getting you laid.”

“Wynonna—”

“Yeah, yeah random hookups aren’t your jam. Got it Haughtpants. Don’t worry, we’ll cure you of that particular delusion before this trip’s done.”

Wynonna’s obsession with her sex life is getting exhausting. But she knows better than to take the bait. “Can I have my phone back now please?”

“Hang on a sec, I’m just gonna forward this pic to myself. I’m short on material to get off to.”

Nicole and Waverly share a look of abject horror. In the back, Chrissy cracks up laughing.

“Kidding, kidding,” Wynonna cackles. “God you squares make it too easy. Your face is the same color as your hair right now Haught.”

What had she been thinking? Twenty-one days captive in a car with Wynonna Earp? Help.

///

“Holy crap, just how bad is this traffic?” Waverly exclaims, hanging out the window in an attempt to spot the full extent of it.

They’re stuck in a long snarl of cars that’s snaking its way oh-so-slowly towards the Canadian/U.S. border for immigration checks.

Waverly’s struck by the noise and chaos of it all; the symphony of impatient horns, the high-pitched shrieking of toddlers through open car windows, the PA system blaring out an endless string of security announcements.

Yet amongst all this bedlam she feels an odd sense of peace.

Wynonna is finally napping, which helps because _wow_ has her sister been in major shit stirring mode today. But mostly she thinks it’s down to finally being able to hang out with Nicole again. It’s nuts the way the world can suddenly feel right with the redhead back in it. One person really shouldn’t have that much effect on her. It scares her, if she’s honest.

Right now Nicole’s a picture of patient serenity, lost in thought, tapping her fingers on the wheel in time to Tracy Chapman’s _Fast Car_ , the setting sun catching at her hair and bathing it a dazzling shade of burnished copper.

_She’s beautiful._

Every now and again Nicole frowns, though, and each time Waverly yearns to reach out and smooth the little crease that appears between her brows.

Is she thinking about Shae’s texts? Her mom?

She wants to ask, wants to help, but it doesn’t feel like the right moment for difficult questions. Instead she closes her eyes and lets her mind drift back to that time, more than a year ago, the night she almost ruined everything…

///

**Fourteen months earlier**

“There, all done,” Waverly announces, setting down the blusher brush and inspecting Nicole’s makeup one last time. “Wow. You look incredible.”

Nicole meets her gaze in the mirror briefly before ducking her head, bashful. “If I do it’s only because of you Waves.”

“Nuh-uh silly, it’s all you. You barely needed any makeup and that dress looks amazeballs on you.”

Somewhere beneath them a glass shatters, briefly cutting through the relentless, throbbing _duff-duff_ of too-loud bass. Waverly sighs. It’s the night of Wynonna and Nicole’s senior prom, and what was supposed to be a low key get together between their closest friends has turned into an impromptu pre-prom rager at the McCready ranch.

Waverly’s not going to prom, she’s not a senior or dating one. But she promised to help get Nicole ready for the big night, and boy-oh-boy is she looking all kinds of ready right now.

Nicole’s wearing a midnight blue off-the-shoulder formal gown with an asymmetrical hem. It’s simple and elegant, and in keeping with that she has her hair down, her only jewelry the silver hummingbird necklace she always wears, the one she says her mom made for her years ago in Dallas.

“You really do look gorgeous Nic. Beth’s a lucky girl.”

Try as she might, Beth’s name still tastes sour on her tongue.

Waverly’s not sure exactly when she started falling for Nicole Haught. If she had to pinpoint a specific moment she thinks it might have been during those long winter nights when Wynonna was serving her second stint in juvie; when Nicole would bravely scale the snow-laden Bur oak outside her bedroom window to clasp Waverly tight in her narrow bed and ease her to sleep.

She’s fought it like the devil, this, because it’s impossible on so many levels. Nicole has a girlfriend. Waverly has a boyfriend. Waverly isn’t gay. Okay, _maybe_ isn’t gay. And then there’s Wynonna, who she fears would lose the plot in a major way if her best friend and her little sister ever hooked up.

But right now, with Nicole in that dress and giving her that look, the one that’s so sweet and full of adoration it makes her knees weak, she wishes it was possible, wishes she was braver.

“Thanks Waves,” Nicole replies, nervously smoothing her hair, the tightness in her voice making Waverly wonder if she’s having similar thoughts.

_Screw it, we can at least have one dance._

She moves to her phone and starts Tom Odell’s cover of Bruce Springsteen’s _Dancing in the Dark_. It’s moodier and has a slower tempo than the original, making it the perfect song to slow dance to.

Waverly holds out her hand. “Dance with me?”

Nicole hesitates, because yeah it’s probably not an appropriate request what with her girlfriend waiting for them downstairs and all. But Waverly can’t help herself, she shoots Nicole her sweetest smile, the one she knows the redhead’s a total sucker for. “Please Nic? Just one dance.” She pouts a little. “It’s the only chance I’ll get tonight after all.”

Nicole smiles indulgently, how-can-I-say-no? in her mahogany eyes. She takes Waverly’s hand. “Well, when you it put it that way…”

They come together.

Nicole’s deft hands claim her waist and Waverly’s arms link around Nicole’s neck, coaxing her closer. Then they’re sliding hip-to-hip, their feet whispering a slow shuffle while Tom Odell sings in the background, yearning to start a fire.

It’s not the first time they’ve danced together, but it’s the first time since this _heat_ existed between them and Waverly’s overwhelmed by Nicole’s touch, her scent, her proximity.

Her heart thrums _I want, I want_ and greedy for more, like she can somehow make their two bodies weave into one, she pulls the redhead even closer.

“Waverly,” Nicole husks, a half-hearted protest that ends up sounding more like a gentle caress, what remains of her southern drawl adding a delicious lilt that makes Waverly ache in places she shouldn’t.

Their faces are only inches apart now. When she gazes up into Nicole’s eyes, so close, she’s sure she sees it: that same treacherous wanting. Nicole looks away first, like it’s too much, like she’s been staring at the sun, only to return her gaze a second later, drawn back irresistibly.

The song ends. It doesn’t matter. They keep on dancing to some silent music of their own making.

Safe and content in Nicole’s arms, Waverly wishes that they could stay like this forever. It shouldn’t feel this right, should it, if it’s so wrong?

Spurred on by that thought she reaches up, dares to stroke Nicole’s soft cheek with her fingertips. The redhead closes her eyes and leans into her touch. Emboldened and running purely on impulse, Waverly’s suddenly on her tippy toes, surging upwards to meet Nicole’s lips. Their noses bump and she’s so close she can taste Nicole’s sweet breath…

At the very last second Nicole dodges her kiss, pressing her lips to Waverly’s forehead instead.

It’s lingering and achingly tender, but still a rejection.

Waverly takes a step back, smacks her temple with her palm. _Stupid._ Just because Nicole likes girls, and just because Waverly has feelings, it doesn’t mean Nicole feels anything back. What was she thinking?

“Shoot. I’m so sorry Nic,” she blurts, eyes downcast. “I m-messed up. I thought it was…I thought you wanted…that was totally inappropriate. Canwejustforgetthateverhappened—”

Nicole moves back into her space and cups a hand to Waverly’s cheek, stilling her. “Shh Waves no…stop, please,” she begs. “I feel it too. I want to kiss you, I do. So, so much…you have no idea.” Nicole’s voice is rough, like she’s on the edge of control. They lock gazes and the raw hunger Waverly sees in the redhead’s eyes is undeniable. “But I-I just can’t. Beth’s downstairs…” Nicole’s shoulders slump and she sighs. “And you’re with Champ. We’re not…cheaters, Wave. That’s not us. And even without them I’m leavin’ soon…it wouldn’t be fair on you to start something new right now.”

Waverly’s heart sinks to the floor. Nicole’s restraint is predictably gallant and everything she’s saying is sensible and fair but that doesn’t stop Waverly _wanting_. She starts to say something, to fight for what this thing between them could be when Wynonna bursts through the door.

They jump apart, Nicole so abruptly she loses her footing and almost falls backwards onto Waverly’s bed.

“Hey sis does my butt look saggy in this—” Wynonna tails off, registering Nicole’s presence. “Oh, so this is where you’ve been hiding out Haught. Beth’s been looking for you.” She moves to the full length mirror to check herself out. “That skank Steph just told me I need a butt lift. Can you guys believe that shit?”

Waverly and Nicole exchange a look, eyes wild. Has Wynonna really failed to notice the way they were holding each other when she walked in?

“What? No way. Your ass is like…it’s top-shelf man, it’s top-shelf,” Nicole assures Wynonna, in what Waverly assumes is an attempt to keep her sister distracted and focused on herself.

“Right?” Wynonna does a twirl for the mirror, her red dress billowing at the bottom as she spins. She gives Nicole’s reflection a once over. “Your boobs look killer in that dress by the way.” She clicks her tongue. “You clean up real nice Haught. Good thing I’m straight, otherwise I’d totally want to wife you up.” She winks lewdly. “Poor ol’ Beth wouldn’t stand a chance against yours truly.”

Waverly chokes a little at that.

Her sister’s eyes narrow and she casts a shrewd look back and forth between them. “You two are acting weird. What’s the deal?”

“There’s no deal Wy,” Nicole counters quickly in an officious, nothing-to-see-here voice. “C’mon let’s go back downstairs. There’s still time to get in a couple of rounds of tequila before the limo arrives.”

 _Good save Nic_. Booze can always be relied on to distract her sister.

“Now you’re talking Haughtboobs.”

Nicole sighs, faux-exasperated. “You’re awful Earp.”

“You love it.”

As she brushes past on the way out Nicole gives Waverly’s hand a little squeeze and she looks at her with an I’m-so-sorry in her soft brown eyes. Waverly thinks it’s okay, because they’ll talk about it later. But they never do, and she’s not sure who’s fault that is exactly.

A week passes and once she’s had time to stew she realizes she’s angry at Nicole for not fighting for them, and for not really giving her a say. That feeling stays with her, simmers deep within her.

Two months later, the night after Wynonna and Nicole leave for college, she finally gives into years of pestering and sleeps with Champ. It’s not “making love” in the way the movies go on about; in fact it’s pretty damned awkward. Mechanical, even. But it’s not horrible. So she packs away her pesky, unrequited feelings for Nicole and sets them aside, because it’s easier this way, easier to not be gay or bi or whatever the heck she might be on top of the stigma she already carries around for being an Earp.

But you can’t plan on the heart, and her heart never stops wanting Nicole.

///

When Waverly returns to the present she realizes they haven’t moved an inch in over twenty minutes. There’s a sense of fevered restlessness all around them as people start to lose patience with the stationary queue.

Then an elderly couple — so wizened and frail that Waverly thinks they must be well into their eighties — emerge from a beaten up Volvo a couple of cars ahead of theirs. They count a beat and start to dance a slow, box-step waltz right out there on the road, in front of everyone.

He holds her just so and she smiles lovingly into his eyes the entire time they dance.

It’s mesmerizing.

When they finish there’s a smattering of applause and they take an arthritic bow.

Waverly’s beaming and her eyes are a little wet. Fudge if that wasn’t one of the most adorable things she’s ever seen.

“Man that was something,” Nicole husks next to her, her brown eyes full of soft wonder.

“Yeah,” she agrees, sighing. “It really was.”

They gaze knowingly across at each other in the dying light. Will seeing two people dance always be like this for them? Will it always mean something more?

Waverly resolves then and there that she wants to talk about _it_. That at some point on this trip they _will_ talk about _it_.

///

Waverly’s alone in the Mustang at a gas station just over the border in Shelby, Montana when she finds out Champ Hardy is officially in a relationship with Stephanie Jones.

She stares down at her phone, dumbstruck. They were together for nearly two years and the shit ticket announces his new relationship on Facebook less than three days after she broke up with him? Seriously?

_That no-good skidmark, loser, jerk—_

The passenger door opens and Wynonna plonks down beside her, hands full with way too many bags of Twizzlers and a Big Gulp. “Why do they lock gas station bathrooms? Are they afraid someone will clean them?” she jokes, before doing a double take when she registers Waverly’s state. “Rur-roh babygirl, you’ve got your Champ face on.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she growls. God, is she really that transparent to everyone?

Wynonna shrugs. “Just something I’ve noticed lately. Whenever that dumbass comes up you make a face like a constipated beaver.”

_Lovely._

“Thank you for that image ‘Nonna,” she replies dryly.

“No problemo sis. But seriously, what’s the deal?”

Waverly hands her sister her phone, Steph’s Facebook page open on it.

Wynonna’s brows knit and her expression changes to what Waverly thinks is _her_ Champ face. The one where she’d clearly like to take Peacemaker, find Champ and shove it somewhere the sun don’t shine.

“Well that didn’t take them long,” she huffs. “Fuck ‘em. They deserve each other. Trust me, you dodged a bullet there babygirl. Give it a few years and he’ll have knocked her up with a couple of rugrats, given up his rodeo dreams to work in the local abattoir, and they’ll both be miserable. Classic backwater love story.”

It’s not Champ moving on so fast that bothers her, though, she realizes as her sister talks. It’s the fact she wasted time on him at all.

“Yeah, that’s not it,” she says, sighing. “I just—I know it was only high school but I can’t believe I stayed with him so long, when I think I always knew he…we…were so wrong.”

This is the guy she lost her god-damned virginity to, after all.

A wave of regret slams her then. Hard. She’s surprised, and a little horrified, to feel a lump forming in her throat. Dammit she’s not gonna cry; not over this. She grabs the steering wheel, sees her knuckles go white with the effort of choking back her emotions.

Wynonna reaches across the center console and pulls her into a hug, slipping seamlessly from serial irritant and quipster to concerned big sister. “Hey now, it’s okay babygirl, I’ve got you.” She rubs soothing circles on Waverly’s back, so familiar, the way she used to every night after their daddy died.

“I think I can help you out there, help you understand it,” Wynonna murmurs, stroking Waverly’s hair. “We’re Earp women. We’re careful with our hearts. See, we can’t get them broken if we never put them on the line in the first place. So I keep things casual and you choose a guy you could never love. Same disease, different way of dealing with it.”

Nodding, Waverly breaks the hug and slumps back into her seat. Wynonna’s dead right, they’re both broken; they both keep their hearts in reserve. She knows, deep down, that it’s probably got something to do with the number of people they’ve lost.

Champ was only a placeholder to her, safe and undemanding. And his popularity at school made it easier for her to feel normal in a town where being an Earp meant being anything but.

It doesn’t help that the one time she’d actually dared to put her heart out there, with Nicole, it’d been a total disaster.

Thinking about that night again makes her ache. “It’s kind of lonely, isn’t it, being like this?”

“Eh, I don’t think I’m cut out for that sappy, storybook romance shit anyway,” Wynonna muses. “But you,” she says, “you are Waves. And you’ll never find the right person if you never let the wrong one go. So giving Champ-the-Chump the flick was the right move.”

Wynonna Earp dispensing sage, sisterly advice twice in the space of five minutes, who-da-thunk-it?

“You’ve been hanging around Nicole too long, you’re starting to sound like a walking bumper sticker,” Waverly teases, feeling lighter.

“Ha, true that,” Wynonna concedes, before taking a long, noisy slurp on her Big Gulp. “Speaking of Ginger Sparks.”

Waverly follows her sister’s gaze. Nicole and Chrissy are laden down with grocery bags, helping a plaid-clad young woman, so heavily pregnant Waverly fears she could pop any second, carry her things to a nearby pickup truck.

Wynonna shakes her head, feigning disapproval. “Blech, how did I end up with a girl scout for a best friend?”

“Oh hush ‘Nonna, you secretly love that she’s a sweetheart.”

“Ew, do not.”

“Do so.”

“God, fine,” Wynonna relents with a theatrical sigh, “maybe just a little. Someone’s gotta be the yang to my yin you know.”

Waverly smiles to herself. Her sister might use Nicole as a foil; might try to make out that she’s the zero to Nicole’s hero, but that goodness in Nicole is in Wynonna too, it’s what binds them together. They’re both protectors.

She glances across at her sister, who’s gone oddly quiet. The unguarded softness in Wynonna’s eyes as she tracks Nicole throws Waverly. It’s obvious from her time with them today that they’ve grown even closer this year, rooming together. She feels a pang of something, something she eventually recognizes as that old, too-familiar feeling of being left out.

Years ago, when Nicole first moved to Purgatory from Dallas, she confessed to Waverly that she thought the Earp sisters were a tough party to crash. Now Waverly feels like she might be the one on the outside looking in.

Waverly’s gaze drifts back to Nicole, now leaning against the cab of the pregnant woman’s truck, all loose limbed and sexy-like, chatting up a storm. Her phone’s still up front in the Mustang with them and it lights up with yet another incoming text. Shae’s name and the start of a message: _“Babe please call me—”_ pop up on the screen.

“Ugh, holy Fatal Attraction this chick does not give up,” Wynonna growls, eying the phone like she’d like to hurl it out the window. “Get the message already: our girl doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“She is hella persistent,” Waverly agrees. “What’s the story there anyway? Did Nic initiate this break,” she pauses to make air quotes around that last word. “Or did Shae?”

“Eh, she won’t even tell me that much. She’s being super squirrelly. But just based on who’s doing the phone stalking right now I’d say it was Nicole. Which means it must’ve been a bad blowup because Haughtstuff is kind of a doormat when it comes to this chick.”

“Is Shae really that bad?” She has trouble keeping the disbelief out of her voice. Wynonna has a history of being over-protective when it comes to the people she cares about — Waverly should know — so she’s not entirely sure she trusts her judgment.

“Puh-lease. Is One Direction an insipid knock-off of the Backstreet Boys? _Yes she’s that bad!_ She’s controlling and possessive as fuck. Example: when they first started dating Pressman got one of her friends to hit on Haught at our campus bar, after one of her basketball games, just to test her. Seriously, who does that sort of shit?”

Jeez, that does sound a little paranoid. It’s not like Nicole is the cheating type. Again, something Waverly has first hand knowledge of.

“I’m telling ya Waves, we’ve gotta keep Haughtstuff out of this bunny boiler’s clutches. She’s bad news. This is why I need you onboard for Operation-get-Haught-laid. Now, I have a plan—”

“Oh hell no ‘Nonna, I am not helping you hook Nicole up with random skanks.”

Wynonna’s expression has turned sly and she has that glint in her eye, Waverly notices, the one that never bodes well. “Just hear me out babygirl—”

“Uh-uh. Not happening.” Waverly makes a show of covering her ears. Even if she didn’t harbor feelings for Nicole she’d still think this sounds like a dumb idea. “Anyway what makes you think it’s even possible? The lesbian dating pool isn’t exactly huge. Unless you’re planning on hitting up lesbian bars, but I’m guessing there aren’t a whole bunch of those in rural Montana.”

“See that’s where—”

“Shh, they’re coming back.” Wynonna’s attempt to reveal more of her sleazy plan is mercifully interrupted by Nicole and Chrissy’s arrival.

“Hey guys, what’d we miss?” Chrissy chirps.

_You really, really don’t wanna know._

///

“Well the pool’s green, there’s roaches in the lobby and I’m pretty sure the guy at reception is wearing a bad toupee,” Chrissy quips, “but hey, at least the room seems clean.”

Nicole drops her bags and surveys their motel room. The furniture’s plastic and the television is bolted to the desk — Great Falls has a meth fueled crime problem according to the reviews Waverly read out to her earlier — but Chrissy’s right, it’s spotless. At seventy bucks for a Queen Double she figures that’s about as much as they can hope for.

Wynonna drops down onto the nearest of the two beds, bouncing a few times to test its firmness. “Meh, it’ll do. More importantly, it’s whiskey o’clock peeps. Who’s up for exploring the greater metropolis of Great Falls? I’m pretty sure I saw something that called itself a genuine whiskey saloon a few blocks back.”

“Really Wy? It’s past ten and we were on the road for over eight hours today,” Nicole groans. “I’m beat. All I wanna do is take a nice long shower and crawl into bed.”

“Always gotta be a buzzkill dontcha Haught? How ‘bout you Chrissy? Bet you’re up for some—”

A high pitched squeak cuts Wynonna off.

Waverly stands in the doorway, hands on hips, eyes ablaze.

Uh oh. Nicole recognizes the beginnings of an Earp rage spiral when she sees one.

“Wynonna!” Waverly storms across the room to her sister. “How could you?”

“What’s crawled up your butt sis?” Wynonna asks, a single brow arched, all nonchalant-like. Nicole doesn’t miss the shifty look in her eyes, though. Whatever it is she’s done, she’s aware.

“Yeah…so I’m just gonna give you guys a minute. I’ll be hanging with the toupee guy and the roaches in the lobby,” Chrissy babbles, slipping out the door, beating a very obvious retreat.  
  
_Smart girl._ For a moment Nicole considers joining her but that’s not how this goes.

“You—you,” Waverly splutters, so enraged she seems to be having trouble forming words. “Half of my stuff is missing Wynonna, half of my stuff! What did you do with it, huh?”

“Hey now, what makes you so sure that’s got anything to do with me?”

“Nicole would never ditch my things. And besides I saw you rummaging in the trunk before we left the Nedley’s.”

“Eh, maybe the car was burgled, didya think of that? Or maybe raccoons got in there? Literate raccoons with a taste for crop tops. Or…oh fine. Busted, I guess. Listen, there wasn’t enough space in the back of the ‘Stang and you had almost twice as much stuff as anyone else. So I made an executive decision to thin things down a touch.”

“A touch? Half of my books are missing. And a lot of my clothes. I don’t even have anything to sleep in tonight!”

_Oh man, this is bad._

“Like there’s time to read all those musty books on a road trip anyway,” Wynonna drawls, not helping the situation.

“WYNONNA—”

And that’s Nicole’s cue. Time to intercede. “Okay guys let’s calm down. I’m sure you meant to check with Waves about this…luggage pruning…before doing it, didn’t you Earp?” She throws Wynonna a you-better-follow-my-lead-or-else look.

“Er…”

“And to be fair we were running desperately short on trunk space Waves,” Nicole continues, doing her best to try and defend the indefensible.

Waverly swivels and turns death-ray-eyes on Nicole. “You’re taking her side, really?”

Nicole holds up her hands. “Woah Waves, my bad, that’s not what I meant. Wy absolutely should have talked to you before doing that. But what’s done is done. It’s getting late and we need to sort this out. I have a spare sleep t-shirt you can use tonight, and some shorts. Anything else you need we can just buy along the way.”

To seal the deal she takes Waverly’s hand in her own and starts to draw slow, lazy circles on the inside of her wrist with the pad of her thumb. It’s a trick she learned years ago, a technique that never fails to bring Waverly down when she gets worked up like this.

“Fine.” Waverly exhales deeply, the rage visibly draining out of her. “But you.” She points at her sister. “You are still in big trouble, got it?”

“Noted sis,” Wynonna acknowledges with a sheepish nod. “God, I could really use a drink right about now.” She starts rooting around in her bag, no doubt looking for her trusty flask.

Relieved that they’re past the worst of that particular blowup Nicole’s attention turns to sleeping arrangements. “Which bed are we going for Wy, the one by the window or the door?”

“Oh I’m not bunking with you Haughtstuff.”

“What? Since when?!” This is news to Nicole. She’d just assumed that given they were used to rooming together — albeit in separate beds, but whatever — that they’d share a bed when necessary on this trip.

“Eh, you get up at the ass crack of dawn to do your exercise shit, it’s annoying. And there’s no way I’m bunking with the infamous Waverly Earp blanket burrito either. So I call dibs on Chrissy.”

Beside her, Waverly stifles a strange half-cough, half-laugh.

That means she’s sharing a bed with Waverly, which, given everything, sounds like a dreadful idea if she actually wants to get any sleep.

“But Wy—”

This time it’s Waverly who reaches for Nicole’s hand. She gives a gentle, reassuring squeeze and leans across to whisper in Nicole’s ear. “Just go with it, trust me. You’ll be grateful later.”

Bewildered, she shoots Waverly a questioning look and finds hazel eyes alight with mischief.

Well, something’s afoot.

“Fine, let’s do this,” she sighs.

Sharing a bed with Waverly Earp may well be the death of her. But there are worse ways to go, she supposes.

///

Nicole is a fidgety mess waiting on Waverly to return from the shower. She plumps the pillows, fiddles with the night-light, can’t get past the third page of the Virginia Woolf novel she downloads onto her Kindle.

_God, this is a terrible, terrible idea._

They’ve done this before; it shouldn’t be such a big deal.

It was different back then, though, back in her junior year when Wynonna was taken away for the second time and Waverly — who’d been so strong, so brave, the first time her sister was locked up — had slowly come apart at the seams. Nicole had watched on, helpless, as the younger Earp stopped eating, stopped sleeping, turned into an empty husk of the sunny, vivacious Waverly they were all accustomed to.

Desperate for a fix, one crazy night she’d driven out into the falling snow, parked her car amongst the drifts, and scrambled her way up the tree by Waverly’s window. Lulled in Nicole’s arms, Waverly’d finally slept. For four long months it became their thing. She didn’t sleep much herself during that time, her grades suffered, and she got splinters in places she didn’t think it was possible to get splinters. But it was worth it to see Waverly spark back to life, to see the hope return.

She knows that she loved Waverly already back then. Knows it because she would have done anything, sacrificed anything, to make the sadness disappear from Waverly’s eyes.

The bathroom door opens and a cloud of steam billows out.

Nicole is totally unprepared for the vision that is Waverly Earp clad only in her Dallas Cowboys t-shirt, hair damp, cheeks still flushed from her shower. The borrowed t-shirt is too long on her; it lands mid-thigh. That’s a good thing, though, because for some reason Waverly’s jettisoned the cotton shorts she was supposed to pair with it.

Is Waverly _actually_ trying to kill her?

Nicole swallows audibly. She’s staring, she knows she’s staring, but she can’t seem to tear her eyes away.

“Do I have toothpaste on my face or something Nic?” Waverly pauses at the foot of the bed, confused.

 _Real smooth Haught._ You’re gawking at the poor girl like a horny perv.

“W-what? No, Waves, you’re good. You just look…” She struggles to think of a word that won’t make her sound like a letch. “…different…in my t-shirt.” There, that wasn’t so bad. “What happened to your shorts?” she squeaks.

“Oh, they got soaked. That shitty shower sprays water everywhere. Oopsies. But I decided I didn’t need ‘em anyway.”

Of course. Someone up above really wants to torture her.

The bed dips and Waverly slides under the comforter; she rolls onto her side to face Nicole, her eyes sparkling with something indefinable.

“Hey bozos, stop your yammering and turn that light off,” Wynonna calls from across the room. “We’re trying to get some shut-eye over here.”

For someone set on a big night out not so long ago the older Earp sure seems protective of her sleep now.

Nicole switches her night-light off. The room darkens but the blinds are so thin that light from outside spills in, bathing everything in a muted shade of blue, including Waverly’s face. She’s watching Nicole, a little smile playing on her lips.

“I wanted to say thank you Nic,” Waverly whispers, running a finger along the edge of Nicole’s pillow, “for taking me with you on this trip…For giving me a chance to get out of Purgatory for a while. It means a lot.”

“Trust me, you’re not the Earp I considered leaving behind,” Nicole jokes, voice kept quiet, like Waverly’s, to avoid Wynonna's wrath. “You don’t need to thank me though Waves. I’m glad you’re here. There’s nobody I’d rather have by my side for this.” She means it; she has a gut feeling that later on, when they get to Texas, she’s going to need all of Waverly’s unfailing optimism, all of her quiet strength.

Waverly smiles at her in the dim light for a beat, then turns and takes something from her nightstand.

“Here, you’re gonna need these in a sec.” Waverly places something small and plastic into her hand. The brunette’s touch lingers longer than it needs to, her fingers brushing the inside of Nicole’s wrist before finally being withdrawn.

“What—”

A sudden, explosive snort rips through the air. A shrill whistling noise follows a second later.

Startled, Nicole sits up in bed, knocking the comforter off of both of them. She looks down to her hand, to the small plastic wrapped package Waverly gifted her a moment ago.

Earplugs.

Oh.

“Holy mother of god,” Wynonna curses from across the room, “what the fuckety fuck is this racket?!?”

Another snort sounds then, louder this time, so loud Nicole thinks the windows actually rattle.

“Fuck my life. It’s Chrissy,” Wynonna yelps.

Beside her, Waverly dissolves into a fit of giggles. “Chrissy snores,” she gasps between laughs. “Like _really_ snores.”

“I kind of picked up on that, yeah.” Nicole says, shaking her head in amusement.

There’s a rustling sound, some stomping, and then Wynonna is on their bed with them. “You fuckers set me up!”

“What’s that ‘Nonna? I couldn’t hear you through my earplugs,” Waverly coos smugly. Nicole stifles a laugh.

“I said, your best friend over there snores like a congested grizzly bear getting it on with a kazoo.”

“Does she? Who knew?” Waverly says, all sugary sweet.

“Oh don’t play the innocent with me babygirl. And you too Haught, I see you also have earplugs.”

“What? I didn’t—”

A series of thunderous snorts interspersed with weird braying whinnies erupts from across the room.

“Aargh,” Wynonna yowls. “Goddamn it, I’m sleepin’ in the bath-tub!”

The older Earp grabs a pillow and a blanket and flounces over to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

“My sister, so melodramatic,” Waverly sighs. She grins wickedly at Nicole in the dim, blue light. “Karma’s a bitch, eh?”

///

It’s 1:03am and Nicole’s flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling of their crumby motel room.

Sleep is proving elusive. Which is crazy because she’s so darned tired.

It’s not even Chrissy’s bone-rattling snoring keeping her awake.

Nope, it’s the heat-seeking missile otherwise known as Waverly Earp.

The brunette is drawn unerringly towards any source of warmth, and tonight that happens to be her. So right now Waverly’s sprawled messily across Nicole, an arm across her chest, a leg splayed across her hips, pinning her to the mattress.

 _Man, it’s hot as Hades in here._ The room’s already stuffy, but with human-furnace-Waverly on top of her Nicole feels like she’s gonna combust.

She tries to block it out; closes her eyes for the thousandth time. But just like before a series of images and sounds come at her: the blinding, yellow stars of oncoming traffic; her father’s sad eyes; Shae’s plaintive voice begging her not to go.

Nicole’s eyes fly open. It’s no good, she’s too restless.

She takes a deep breath and is assailed by a heady hit of Waverly’s strawberry shampoo. Dammit. She shifts slightly, tries to create a little distance between them, but that only leads to the brunette’s hand ending up on Nicole’s breast, her knee pressed dangerously close to her center.

_Wonderful._

The truth is, in spite of the heat, it feels amazing to have Waverly this close to her. But she shouldn’t be enjoying this; it isn’t right, it’s not fair to the brunette.

So she extricates herself ever-so-delicately from Waverly’s hold, one limb at a time. She grabs her phone and a light sweatshirt and quietly slips out the door.

It’s much cooler outdoors, and it comes as a blessed relief.

There’s nothing to sit on, so she slides her back down the the cold brick of the building’s exterior until she makes contact with hard ground. She has a good view of the motel’s inner courtyard. It’s quiet now, the scene before her perfectly still except for a middle-aged guy she spies slipping furtively through the doorway of room fifty-one. Probably having an affair, she guesses.

She unlocks her phone; stares numbly at the notification informing her that she has fifteen unread text messages and two voicemails.

Nicole sighs. This is not what they’d agreed, this is not Shae giving Nicole space, like they’d talked about.

_What a mess._

They’d met on a university snowboarding trip. Fresh out of a relationship with Beth and still grappling with all things Waverly, Nicole hadn’t been looking for anything serious. But Shae, so smart, so beautiful, so ambitious, didn’t do casual and Nicole soon found herself pulled into something that was beyond intense. Their whole relationship feels like a fever dream, in hindsight. A spectacular, lust-driven fever dream that burned bright but was doomed to burn out because try as she might Nicole couldn’t love Shae Pressman in the way that she deserved.

She’d tried; she’d tried so god-damned hard. Nicole had gone all-in with Shae, in a way that she never had with Beth. She’d even steered clear of Waverly when Shae’d asked it of her, as much as that had nearly destroyed her.

It hadn’t been enough. Because, in the end, you can’t force love.

Nicole shuts her eyes, tries to conjure up Shae’s dark beauty. Instead it’s Waverly that appears. Waverly reading beside her in the Mustang, hazel eyes alive with the joy of discovery; Waverly driving at dusk, shimmying her shoulders in time to a cheesy Dixie Chicks song; Waverly smiling, her nose crinkling in that adorable way of hers, as she watches that old couple do the box-step.

_Always Waverly._

Maybe, she thinks, it’s better to love someone you can’t have, than have someone you can’t love.

But what if she _can_ have Waverly?

Nicole still doesn’t know what that dance last year meant, why Waverly had tried to kiss her. Was she experimenting? She’d never shown any interest in girls before. Back then Waverly had been struggling to work out who she was exactly, where she fitted in the world. So perhaps it was just something else — like the salsa lessons or scrapbooking — she wanted to try on for a moment.

Whatever the reason, the timing had been wrong. If there’s ever going to be something between them it would’ve been a mistake to sully it by founding it on unfaithfulness. No matter how much she’d wanted to kiss Waverly.

They should talk about that night. But there’s a part of Nicole that’s afraid to know, afraid to exist in a world where that tiny sliver of hope that Waverly might love her back is gone.

There’s another part that doesn’t want to hurry Waverly, that wants her to come to Nicole on her own terms, only when she’s ready, and sure, or not at all.

Because loving deeply, completely, the way she loves Waverly Earp, means being willing to give it all away.

///

Waverly jolts awake.

Sleep-muddled, it takes her a moment to realize she’s alone in the bed, the entire comforter swathed around her in layers, cocoon-like.

_Where’s Nicole?_

A glance at the clock tells her it’s just past two in the morning — far too early for even the redhead to have gone for her morning jog.

Worried, she wriggles into some jeans and pads across to the door. She opens it just a smidge, enough to allow a peek outside.

She spots Nicole immediately and her heart lurches. She’s slumped against the wall next to the door, knees tucked close into her body, a lost look in her eyes as she gazes dully at her phone. She has such a powerful presence to her usually. It’s rare to see her like this, small and folded in on herself.

Nicole startles as she notices Waverly in the doorway.

“Waverly, hey.”

She’s unsure if she should be intruding on Nicole’s private moment, but she takes a step outside anyway, and the door clicks softly shut behind her. “Hey. I c-can leave you to it, if you like.”

Nicole’s features soften.

“No…stay. Please.” She pats the ground next to her, inviting Waverly to sit.

She slides down the wall until her butt makes contact with freezing cold concrete. “Holy shitballs, it’s cold down here!”

Nicole chuckles, her cheeks creasing, a hint of those killer dimples.

Settling into position, Waverly becomes aware of just how close they are. She’s practically in Nicole’s lap. It’s so fricken’ cold out here, though, and Nicole’s so warm, she can’t bring herself to shift across.

“So, whatcha doin’ up so late? Can’t sleep?”

“Yeah. It was too hot in there,” Nicole says, sighing. She rests her head back against the wall. “And I have a lot on mind at the moment. My brain was spinning in circles…”

The way Nicole grips her phone as she speaks, it’s obvious she’s talking about Shae.

“I hate that. Do you maybe want to talk about it? Not that you have to, I mean…we can just sit here—”

“Shae didn’t want me to come,” Nicole blurts. “On this trip, I mean.”  
  
_Oh._ “What? Why not?”

“We had a big fight, the night I got back from B.C.” Nicole says, eyes downcast, fidgeting with her watch band. “Things were…harder…than she’d expected, us being apart this last six weeks. She has a placement at Rockyview General this summer so she’s kinda stuck in Calgary. She wanted me to cancel, said she’d fly down to Dallas with me on a weekend instead. When I said no, she gave me an ultimatum…our relationship or this road trip.”

Woah. Waverly takes a moment to process that. “So you chose the trip, obviously?”

“Yep. The ultimatum was the last straw, to be honest. Things have been getting…unhealthy, between us.”

“How do you mean?” Based on her conversation earlier in the day with Wynonna, she can take a guess, but she wants to hear it from the redhead.

Nicole frowns and gazes off into the distance, her expression hardening.

“Shae’s last girlfriend cheated on her, with a dude. Which is kind of the worst. That made her paranoid and…possessive. The deeper we got the more she wanted of my time, of my everything. She asked me to go home less often…to talk to certain people less. It was too much…but I felt like I owed it to her, to try, to prove that I was all-in. I thought it’d be temporary, that she’d ease up once she worked out that she could trust me.”

_Sunavabitch._

Waverly’d bet the farm that “certain people” includes her. It explains a lot. When she’d met Shae at Christmas she’d been ice-cold to Waverly. She must have considered her — correctly to be fair — a threat.

“So Shae’s the reason you barely came home this semester?” It makes Waverly furious to think that anyone would ask that of Nicole.

Nicole nods, an apology in her eyes. “Yeah…and it was a huge mistake.” She glances down into her lap and rubs at the back of her neck in that way that she does when she’s embarrassed. “The space and time I had in B.C. cleared my head. I realized she wanted more than I could ever give her, anyway. When we were apart…I just…I didn’t crave her. Shae deserves someone who’s more than half there.”

Waverly’s not convinced that Shae-fucking-Pressman deserves anyone, with controlling asshat behavior like this. But that’s beside the point. Nicole just admitted that she couldn’t loved Shae; that her heart’s somewhere else. She feels a surge of hope.

But wait…

“If that’s true why are you two only on a break?”

Nicole sighs. “She wouldn’t accept me breaking up with her for good. When I called her bluff on the trip she backpedaled. She said that I should take some time to figure things out instead. That she didn’t want it to end. She got super emotional.”

Wow, this chick really does sound like a manipulative bitch. “But if _you’re_ sure you’re done…”

“Yeah I know Waves. And every mile I get away from Calgary I get more sure. I have to talk to her. It’s just…ugh, she can be so difficult…”

Waverly gets it. Nicole’s a kind soul, she hates hurting people. She takes the redhead’s hand in hers, links their fingers. “You’re the bravest person I know Nic, you’ll figure it out.”

Nicole looks down at their joined hands, then back up to smile at her. A proper smile this time, gorgeous dimples on full display. As always, Waverly yearns to reach out and trace them. Or better yet, kiss them.

“Thanks Waves.”

Waverly shivers, and she’s not sure if it’s the chilly night air or Nicole’s sweet gaze that’s responsible.

“You’re cold, here—” Nicole shrugs out of her U-of-C Wildcats team sweater. “Put this on.” She brushes Waverly’s long hair to one side and slides the sweater gently over her head.

“You don’t have to do that Nic…” Waverly protests, but weakly, because it’s heaven being snug and warm inside something that smells so overwhelmingly of the redhead.

“I want to,” Nicole says, voice low and intense. When Waverly looks up, Nicole’s eyes are hot chocolate on a cold winter’s night. Full of a soft warmth that wraps around Waverly, keeping her safe. “You’re only out here because of me, after all.”

_Goddammit Haught. Stopping being so swoon-worthy. You’re making it really hard not to just lean in and make-out with you right now._

Thinking it best to avoid those beguiling brown eyes, and feeling sleepy, Waverly lets her head rest on Nicole’s shoulder.

“Do you think I’m doing the right thing, trying to find my mom?” Nicole asks quietly.

“Hmm?” Waverly’s having trouble keeping up now, she’s so drowsy.

“It feels selfish, like I’m hurting my Dad…and what if it’s a wild goose chase? Shae was against it. Even Wy thinks it’s a bad idea.”

That doesn’t sound like her up-for-anything-any-time sister. “Wynonna said that?”

“No, but I can tell. She’s being a good friend, but she gets this look whenever I mention why we’re actually doing this, like she thinks I’m gonna get hurt.”

“Yeah well ’Nonna’s not exactly big on confronting things head on,” Waverly says. “Also she has a chip on her shoulder a mile wide when it comes to runaway moms. Honestly, if I had a chance to get back one of the people I’ve lost, even if it was only a tiny chance, I’d take it in a flash Nic. So I think you’re doing the right thing.”

Nicole squeezes her hand, a gentle thanks. They lapse into a comfortable silence and Waverly feels herself drifting off again.

“Waves are you asleep?” Nicole’s voice is soft and comes from somewhere very close to her ear.

“Mmm, nope,” she mumbles.

The next thing she knows she’s being scooped up into Nicole’s arms, one arm under her legs, the other supporting her back, bridal-carry style.

“What the—”

“You were snoring Waves. Thought I’d better get you to bed. We’ve got a big day’s drive ahead, after all.”

“I _do not_ snore,” she manages through her sleep-haze, indignant.

“Uh huh,” Nicole says, a smile in her voice. “You keep on tellin’ yourself that.”

She hears a soft _oof_ as Nicole pushes the motel room door open with her back, having somehow managed to unlock it with Waverly still in her arms.

 _This is kind of nice._ On instinct, she nuzzles into Nicole’s neck, chasing the sweet scent of vanilla. “Mmm. You smell good.”

Oops. Her sleep-addled state seems to have lowered her inhibitions.

“Um…that’s good, I guess?” Nicole replies, chuckling.

It’s darker inside but Nicole has no trouble locating and then easing Waverly down onto their bed. She patiently removes Waverly’s ballet flats and then helps her shimmy out of her jeans.

The redhead’s gentle touch at her hips is enough to spark her awake, even if only briefly.

“Nicole?”

“Yes Waves?”

“I’m sorry for nearly ruining everything between us, that night.”

It’s a moment of rare truth between them, whispered in the dark.

Nicole stills, just for a second. Then she pulls the comforter up to Waverly’s shoulders, brushes the hair out of her eyes and leans across to press a tender, lingering kiss to her forehead.

“You could never ruin us Waverly. We’re forever.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Phew* So that ended up being slightly longer than I intended for this chapter. Thanks for reading, and thank you so much to the lovely people that took the time to leave comments and kudos on chapter one. That feedback was really motivating. 
> 
> I hope that the flashback worked okay in this one. I’m never much of a fan of that technique, but I think that scene needed to be properly fleshed out here. 
> 
> There’s a proper bit of action coming in the next chapter, which should push things along nicely.
> 
> Again, I don’t have a beta so apologies if there’s the odd typo. I pushed this one out a bit quickly (by my standards!) so I generally feel like the editing isn’t up to scratch, but oh well. :)


	3. You play the hero in my song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get saucy on a hike, Waverly wants to be braver, Wynonna goes Top Gun, Nicole saves Chrissy from a sticky situation, and somebody pulls an actual gun.
> 
> *Just a warning, although 99% of this is light and fluffy, there is some moderate violence towards the end of this chapter.

**Day 2: Great Falls (MT) **—** Idaho Falls (ID)**

 

 

> I want each rib in my body  
>  to hold the shadow  
>  of a lion  
>    
>  \- Ruth Madievsky, from “Bobsled”.

 

Waverly isn’t much good at just being.

At any given moment her busy mind tends to flit back and forth through time, over-analyzing what’s come before, planning incessantly for what comes next, never lingering long in the present.

It can be exhausting.

But out here, today, on the Lewis and Clark historic trail, where Montana’s great plains meet its mountains, something special is happening.

This place stills her.

Until Wynonna starts bitching about the heat again, anyways.

“Are we there yet babygirl? ‘Cos it’s hot as all get out right now. I’m sweatin’ like a hog, I tell ya I’ve got sweat in places a girl shouldn’t have sweat—”

“Ew,‘Nonna, too much information,” Waverly cuts in, before her sister can detail said places. She unfolds the trail map and squints at it as she walks. “According to this we should only be half a mile from Devil’s Glen now. You know, you wouldn’t be so hot if you dressed appropriately for the conditions, like ditching the leather jacket…”

“…and the black tee,” Nicole, walking immediately behind Waverly on the trail, chips in.

“…and the black jeans,” Chrissy adds, from the back.

“Oh ho, so y’all are tag-teaming me now. I see how it is. Well, just because you lot are dressed like hoboes—”

“Excuse me?!” Chrissy squeaks, indignant.

“It’s called hiking gear Earp,” Nicole deadpans. “You might want to look into it.”

“No chance Haughtsauce, this bangin’ bod wasn’t made for lumberjack chic.”

“Ugh, honestly Wynonna—” Waverly starts to censure her sister’s vanity, but her hiking boot snags on a half-buried tree root and she stumbles forwards.

For a second she’s sure she’s going to fall flat on her face; strong arms seize her from behind, however, and she feels herself being deftly set back on her feet.

Nicole.

Of course.

“I’ve got you Waves.”

_Oh, you’ve got me alright._

The redhead’s gentle hands linger a little too long at her waist and she swears she hears Chrissy give a little snort of amusement.

Up front Wynonna is tapping her foot, looking all puppy-dog-hopeful. “Well would you look at that, the path’s dangerous, impassible. Guess we should head on back to the old ‘Stang, eh?”

Waverly rolls her eyes at the ridiculousness of that statement and starts walking again. The trail before them is heavily trod and well made, she only tripped because she was distracted. _By Wynonna_.

“I’m just sayin’ peeps, we could be in a perfectly good bar right now, knocking back ice-cold margaritas in air conditioned splendor.”

Never one to give up easily, is her sister. Oh no.

“It’s not even noon Wy, a little early to be hitting the hard liquor dontcha think?” Nicole scoffs. “Anyway, if you think this is hot you’ve got another thing coming once your ass gets to Texas.”

“Dude, don’t remind me. I’m in denial.”

A few hundred yards later they enter a flatter, meadowed section of the trail. Waverly pauses to mop at her brow and take a long, thirsty sip from her water canister.

To be fair to ‘Nonna it _is_ scorching hot today. It must be pushing eighty-five degrees in the shade.

She looks around them, reveling in the spectacular mountain scenery. This is prime grizzly bear and moose country, all rugged ridges, gentle alpine meadows, and conifer forested slopes. The crisp air is heavy with the scent of Douglas Fir; a scent that reminds Waverly of Christmas.

Up ahead she can just make out the rushing sound of the upper Dearborn river.

“Hell yes, is that water I spy at last?” Wynonna exclaims, suddenly taking off at a great clip.

Waverly scrambles after her, desperately hoping her sister isn’t about to power walk herself right off the edge of a cliff.

Instead they break through a gap in the conifers into a scene straight out of a postcard.

They’re standing atop a narrow limestone canyon, the Dearborn river a deep pool of iridescent green-blue beneath them. To their right, further upstream, a waterfall roars, feeding crystal-clear glacial water into the river from the mountains to the east.

“Woah, so maybe this hike-from-hell was worth it after all,” Wynonna says in an awed voice.

“Told ya,” Waverly gloats.

Eyes fixed on the water below them Wynonna peels off her leather jacket, discarding it onto a nearby boulder. Then she kicks off her biker boots and unzips her jeans.

_What the heck?_

“Um ‘Nonna…”

“I know we told you to ditch your ridiculous getup Wy, but going all Lord of the Flies butt naked-in-the-wilderness may be taking things a step too far.”

“Oh you’re hilarious Haught,” Wynonna drawls. “I’m going for a dip you dumbasses. Obviously.”

Public nudity. Of course. Waverly should have seen this one coming. It’s not like it’s the first time…

“Uh, ‘Nonna this is a public trail—”

“So what?” Wynonna grunts, bare-legged now and tugging at the hem of her _Coffee Days, Whiskey Nights_ t-shirt.

“Like, it’s a really popular public trail.”

“Psh, it’s a Monday and I haven’t seen anyone else out here Waves, have you? Anyway if they come let ‘em cop an eyeful, it’ll be their lucky day.” She waggles her brows in that suggestive way of hers.

Waverly, Chrissy and Nicole exchange an uneasy look.

“Please tell me you’re at least rocking a swimsuit under there Wynonna?” Chrissy pleads, already covering her eyes.

“Nope. I’m going au naturel Nedley junior. Anyone else care to join?”

Wynonna’s invitation — her sister has now stripped down to her underwear, and Waverly’s disturbed to note this includes a lacy thong — is met with a resounding silence.

“Sheesh, prudish much? I didn’t realize I was road tripping with a crew of nuns.”

Nicole coughs. Waverly thinks it’s kind of adorable how hard she’s working to look anywhere other than at her half-naked sister. “Skinny dipping in the middle of the day is high risk Wy, you gotta admit…”

“I tell you what Haught, I’ll keep my underwear on if you, at least, join me for a swim. Deal?”

Her sister has laid down a challenge, a challenge Waverly knows Nicole will be compelled to accept. It’s how they roll.

“Fine Earp,” Nicole relents with an exaggerated sigh. “Whatever it takes to save us all from the god-awful sight of you in the raw. I could do with cooling off anyhow.”

Wynonna whoops and pulls Nicole into a headlock, ruffling her hair affectionately. “That’s the spirit Haughtshot.”

“Ew Wy…gross.” Nicole extracts herself from Wynonna’s clutches. “Quit it with the semi-nude cuddling.”

“Hey now, just because that’s the most action you’ve had in weeks.”

There’s a rough path carved into the side of the canyon and they follow it down to the water’s edge.

Waverly and Chrissy locate a flat, smooth area amongst the rock formations to lie and soak up the sun while the other two swim.

She rummages through her backpack, searching for the book on Sumerian Gods she’d brought along in case she had a chance to read today.

Just as her hand brushes its spine, Wynonna takes a flying leap off a rocky outcrop nearby, landing with an almighty splash that rains water over all of them.

_Okay, so maybe it’s a good thing I hadn’t gotten my book out yet._

“Holy fuck it’s freezing,” Wynonna hollers, spitting out water. “But it’s good. So good. C’mon Haughtstuff, get your scrawny ass in here.”

“God, I’m coming already Earp. Keep your shirt on. Oh wait…you already took that off,” Nicole snarks.

Beside her, Chrissy leans in close. “Psst Waves, time to get your perv on, your girl crush is stripping down to her panties right behind us.”

“Chrissy!” she hisses, don’t-you-dare-say-another-word in her eyes. “Hush.”

Honestly, sometimes it feels like her best friend lacks a filter almost as badly as her sister does.

But Chrissy just smirks and inclines her head Nicole’s way.

When Waverly finally gives into temptation and looks, the redhead is already out of her hiking pants and focused intently on unbuttoning her plaid shirt; her clothes folded in a neat little stack beside her. Waverly can’t help but smile at that, it’s so Nicole to be all orderly and methodical even out here in the wilderness, and a stark contrast to Wynonna, who left a trail of clothing in her wake at the top of the canyon.

Not for the first time she wonders how they survived rooming together this year.

Done with her buttons now, Nicole slips off her shirt and is left standing there in a simple but sexy navy blue bra and panties combo. The redhead’s athletic body is exquisite, of course. Hard in all the right places, soft in all the right places. Legs for days and creamy skin marked only by the odd beauty spot.

Waverly feels a tug of something deep within then, something hungry and primal, something that can only be lust.

If she had any lingering doubts that she’s at least a little bit gay, they’re demolished in this moment.

_Stop staring. Stop staring. Stop staring._

But she can’t.

And then it’s too late, Nicole finishes folding her shirt and turns to look straight at her.

_Busted._

Nicole takes in Waverly’s flustered state and arches a brow. As puzzlement gives way to amusement she gazes down at Waverly through long lashes and grins; a cocky little grin that’s all you-like-what-you-see-here?

God, that makes things a hundred times worse because as much as she adores sweet Nicole, and cherishes protective Nicole, cocky Nicole might just be her favorite thing of all.

It’s too much. Waverly ducks her head, heat prickling at her cheeks.

When she looks up again Nicole is poised to dive into the river beside them.

“Wait…Nic…”

“Yes Waves?”

“S-s-sunscreen,” Waverly stammers out, pulling a bottle out of her pack. “Shouldn’t you, uh, put some sunscreen on?”

“Oh yeah. Good point. Sucks to be me, I tend to lobsterify super quick.” Nicole sits down beside her and takes the lotion from Waverly. “Thanks for reminding me.” She shoots Waverly a grateful smile, dimples and all.

“S’okay.” Waverly has no idea where to direct her eyes right now. Having Nicole half-naked and within touching distance is totally short-circuiting her brain.

Nicole bumps her shoulder. “Would you mind Waves?” She points at her back. “I can’t reach.”

This time Chrissy gives an unmistakable snort, one they both choose to ignore.

“Uh sure Nic, I guess I can do that,” she says, voice high and squeaky.

She settles in behind Nicole, squirts some lotion into her palm and reaches forward.

Nicole shivers at Waverly’s touch. “Is the lotion too cold?” Waverly asks, concerned.

“No…I mean yes, a bit. I’ll get used to it.”

Waverly’s hands are nervous at first but she soldiers through it, calming as she focuses on systemically applying the sunblock to anywhere the redhead might burn.

The contact seems to lull them both; Nicole remains silent throughout, although she’s a little tense, based on the way her muscles are bunched.

_God, her muscles…_

Waverly shakes her head, struggling for clarity. Is it possible to get drunk on a person? Because that’s how this feels, like Nicole is some sort of narcotic that’s left her in a strange, befuddled, lusty haze.

“There, all done Nic,” she announces as she finishes, voice still unnaturally high.

“Thanks.” Nicole gives Waverly’s thigh a quick squeeze but she avoids eye contact. Suddenly in a rush, she strides to the water’s edge and dives into the river, all languid grace and splashless entry.

Waverly sighs dreamily. It’s entirely unfair for anyone to look that good in their underwear.

“Nice one Waves.” Chrissy chortles, elbowing her. “The old use-sunblock-to-feel-up-my-crush trick, huh? Classic. Been there, Perry pulled that on me once.”

“W-what? I didn’t…I wasn’t—” she sputters.

“Oh don’t even start with the Bambi act. I just sat through a scene that felt straight out of a low grade porno flick.”

Jesus. Are they that obvious? What if Wynonna notices?

“What’s going on with you guys anyway? Something’s different, I swear I’m seeing even more epic eye-banging than usual.”

She starts to protest but stops because Chrissy’s not wrong. Something has subtly shifted between them in the last twenty-four hours.

“We talked last night…about Shae,” Waverly confesses. She rubs at her eyes, remembering how late they’d stayed up. “Nic told me all about their breakup. She said she doesn’t love her, she never loved her. That they’re not getting back together.”

“Well duh. So the path’s clear then, there’s nothing stopping you two boneheads finally hooking up? You want that, right?”

“It’s not that simple Chris. I don’t even know if she still wants me like that, or if she’s up for anything serious so soon.”

Waverly’s not sure she’s brave enough to ask the question, either, to risk being knocked back a second time.

These feelings she has toward Nicole scare the crap out of her, if she’s honest, and she’s still raw from the first time Nicole rejected her, even if it was for all the right reasons.

And then if they do hookup, the last thing she wants is to be some sort of short-lived rebound from Shae.

“For reals? Anyone with eyes can see that girl worships you Waves,” Chrissy urges, “other than Wynonna, of course,” she hastily corrects.

Waverly thinks back to last night. To Nicole’s strong arms and whispered words. _We’re forever._ It could mean anything. Friends say they’re forever all the time, don’t they? Yet there was a promise of something more there, she thinks.

“Maybe…”

Her gaze darts out to the water, where the two older girls are engaged in a splashing contest on the other side of the river.

And ‘Nonna?

Somehow her sister has remained blind to this thing that’s been blooming between Waverly and Nicole for years. If and when she figures it out Waverly’s instinct is that Wynonna will see it for what it is: a secret they’ve long kept from her, and perhaps, therefore, the worst kind of betrayal.  
  
Wynonna is a lone wolf by nature. She knows how hard Nicole has fought to earn her sister’s faith, her love. Given ‘Nonna’s trust issues, it’s not impossible this could destroy their friendship, a friendship that Waverly knows means the world to both of them.

It’s a lot to risk, and even if Waverly’s willing to take that risk, she’s not sure Nicole is.

Wynonna needs Nicole, her steadiness anchors her, curbs her recklessness. And Nicole needs Wynonna, needs her spontaneity and free-spirit to keep her buttoned-up seriousness in check.

Waverly’s heart aches at the thought of anything coming between them.

Especially if that something is her.  
  
///

Waverly’s wilting.

It’s so hot she’s given up on reading and resorted to using her book as a fan. Beside her Chrissy’s fallen into a sun-induced slumber. Minus the snoring, so far, thank god.

Wynonna and Nicole have been gone for ages exploring the waterfall, and Waverly has to admit she’s bored and a little jealous.

A familiar laugh rings out and her gaze drifts to the opposite bank where the other two have suddenly materialized. Wynonna’s pointing to the top of the canyon wall, which is much higher on that side.

Her sister has that fierce look on her face, the one that means she won’t stop until she’s conquered something.

_Oh crap._

They’re going to race to the top of the canyon.

Competitive idiots.

Wynonna counts to three and then they’re both flying up the rocks.

Waverly sucks in a deep breath, worried one or both will fall.

Nicole takes an early lead but as they get closer to the top Wynonna starts to reel her back in.

It comes down to the wire — a hard scramble onto the final ledge. Nicole’s biceps are that much stronger and she pushes herself up with ease while Wynonna flails. Unfailingly courteous, and maybe a little smug, Nicole reaches an arm out to help pull Wynonna up.

Even from down here she can hear the torrent of obnoxious curse words her sister unleashes at that.

They jostle for a moment at the summit, before they both still, contemplating the steep drop back down.

It triggers a memory in Waverly: of a hot summer’s day four years ago, Wynonna and Nicole both poised to jump from the Ghost River bridge. Willa’s there and she’s dared Wynonna to take the plunge from the same spot their Daddy drove his F-150 through a guardrail two years earlier, a guardrail that’s still partially mangled from that impact.

It’d been all kinds of fucked up. But that was Willa, always pushing buttons and goading others into the unimaginable.

She'd clocked genuine fear in Wynonna’s eyes for the first time ever that day as her sister stared down at that drop, thinking of their dead father. For a moment she’d been positive Wynonna would refuse the dare, that Willa would claim victory. But Nicole had stepped forward, had taken Wynonna’s hand: _we’ll jump together._

This canyon isn’t as steep as the Ghost River bridge, but it still scares Waverly. She watches as Wynonna takes a running jump, flinging herself off the edge, feet first, arms splayed wildly, her body making a loud thwack as she impacts the water.

A second later Nicole follows, a proper dive, head-first, which seems like sheer madness. How can it possibly be deep enough for that?

It is though, because Nicole surfaces just fine, plum in the middle of the river.

Wynonna is nowhere to be seen, however, and Waverly’s heart skips a beat.

Where the fuck is her sister?

Nicole looks around wildly. “Earp?” she calls, puzzled. Waverly stands up, prowls the water’s edge. Nicole catches her eye, and they exchange a frantic look. “Wynonna?” Nicole calls again, louder and more insistent this time. Then she takes a deep breath, ducks under the water, searching, before she reappears, empty handed and even more agitated.

A good twenty yards downriver Wynonna suddenly pops her head above water. She flashes them both a roguish grin.

“Fun fact slackers, I can hold my breath for a really long time. Aquagirl eat ya heart out.”

“You asshole,” Nicole spits, face like thunder. “Don’t you ever do that to us again.” She swims across to Wynonna and gives her a gentle clout around the head.  
  
Her sister’s lucky she’s out of Waverly’s range because she’d like to dish out something far worse than that.

“Hey now, I was just foxing Haught, don’t get your panties in a bunch.”

“Honestly Wynonna one of these days—” Nicole starts.

“—Ew, something slimy just got all freaky with my leg,” Wynonna yelps.

“That’ll be the rainbow trout Earp, river’s full of ‘em.”

“Trout?”

“Mhmm. What do ya think the grizzlies here eat?”

“’The fuck?!? There are bears here?” Wynonna scans the bushes, her expression comically wild, as if a grizzly is about to jump out at them right there, right now.

“Dude, we’re in Montana, of course there are bears here,” Nicole deadpans. She swims up to the rock where Waverly’s perched and stands waist deep before her. “Hi Waves. Your sister is an asshole.”

“I’m aware.” She lowers her voice conspiratorially, “do you think we should tell her there are bears in Alberta too?”

“Best not, she might blow a gasket.”

They exchange wry smiles at Wynonna’s antics.

And then Waverly’s drinking Nicole in: her slicked back wet hair, now a darker shade of mahogany that almost matches her eyes; her exquisite pale skin, exposed from the belly button up; her sculpted abdomen; her perfectly shaped breasts…

“My eyes are up here Waves,” Nicole prods, amused.

She looks up and away, blushing furiously.

Waverly’s never really known a _wanting_ like this before and it’s throwing her for a loop.

If she was braver, she’d forget about the rest of the world and simply pull Nicole in close, kiss her hard, like she aches to.

Her gaze flits to the cliff-top opposite them, to the place Nicole and Wynonna jumped from moments ago.

She feels a sudden rush of desire to jump too, to truly let go, like they had. To experience the thrill of those precious few seconds in mid-air, free-falling.

She kicks at the rocky ground, scuffing her boot, frustration building. Sometimes it feels like she’s going to collapse under the weight of all the lives she’s not living, all the chances she isn’t taking.

When her focus returns to Nicole she finds the redhead studying her attentively, expression soft.

“You wanna jump, don’t you?” Nicole asks. It’s not really a question, more an observation.

How does she do that? Somehow she always seems to just know what Waverly’s feeling, like she’s got a direct line to her brain or something. It’s crazy.

“I do,” she meets Nicole’s kind brown eyes, “but I’m not sure if I’m brave enough.”

“Well then, how about you and I jump together?” Nicole offers. Her brow furrows, like she’s afraid she’s said the wrong thing. “I mean…no pressure Waves. Only if you want to.”

“I-I’d like that.”

A quick paddle and a precarious climb later, they’re standing at the top of the canyon, the steep drop beckoning.

“Will it hurt Nic?”

“No,” Nicole assures her, “well not much…only a little on entry. But it’s worth it, you’ll see.”

When Waverly remains paralyzed by self-doubt the redhead offers her hand, just like she did with Wynonna all those years ago, and she’s struck by the symmetry of the two moments.

“You know what helps me when I get scared and stuck?” Nicole says, all gentle and coaxing. “This thing my Dad always says — ‘If your nerve deny you, go above your nerve’. It’s from Emily Dickinson,” she explains. “I figure he’s a fire-fighter, he’s the bravest guy I know, so if it works for him…”

_Go above your nerve._

Waverly nods, steels herself, takes Nicole’s proffered hand, and marches them off the edge of the canyon.

There’s no space left for thought after that, Waverly is only sensation. She’s the hum of the air she plunges through like a knife; she’s the vibrant green-blue of the river that rises up to meet her; she’s the tightness of her hand, still somehow, impossibly, clasped in Nicole’s.

Then she slams into the glassy river with a stinging smack and everything is dark.

A second later she breaks the surface, whooping, euphoric. Nicole pops up right next to her.

“I did it, I really did it,” she beams across at the redhead, triumphant. “And it was amazeballs!”

Nicole pushes a strand of wet red hair from her eyes and smiles at Waverly, a dimpled, proud smile. “I knew you could do it Waves.”

They tread water together, only inches apart. “Tell me, how did you know I wanted to jump Nic…before?”

Nicole tilts her head to one side. “Oh I kinda know a lotta things about you Waverly Earp,” she says, voice playful, gaze intense.

“Oh really?” Waverly challenges, matching Nicole’s light tone.

“Mhm. Like, I know that you’ve got a secret stash of Harlequin romance novels that you keep hidden at the bottom of your laundry hamper, so Wy can’t find ‘em.”

_Guilty. Thank god ‘Nonna’s allergic to laundry, she’s never hit on them. Though apparently Nicole has?_

“I know that you pretended to be into The Killers for three whole years, to humor me, even though you actually hate their stuff…”  
  
_Guilty. Well, sort of._

“I don’t hate them. I just maybe don’t love them?” she admits.

“Uh-huh, that’s still sacrilege,” Nicole teases. “I know that you want Willa to come home,” she continues, much more seriously now, “and that you don’t want Willa to come home.”

_Guilty. She loves her oldest sister, but she sucks._

“I know that you’re afraid of not living up to your full potential, of getting stuck somewhere like Purgatory all your life. But that’s okay because I also know that you’re smarter and braver than you realize, and one day soon you’re going to figure it out, and you’re going to fly Waverly, you’re going to soar so high above all of the rest of us…”

_Oh gosh._

Waverly doesn’t have the right words for that. She swallows a lump in her throat and finds Nicole’s hand again, underwater. She threads their fingers together and brings their joined hands to her breastbone, so that Nicole can feel the way her heart is hammering in reply instead.

“Waverly…” Nicole husks, something desperate in her eyes.

“Yo water rats, get your asses back on dry land. It’s gettin’ late and Idaho Falls is still five hours drive away.”

Wynonna Earp: moment ruiner.

///

Nicole will always remember Beaverhead County, Montana as the place the Earp music wars reached a new zenith.

_Love Shack, baby Love Shack. Love Shack, baby Love Shack._

“Bieber’s just fine babygirl. Put him on. Really,” Wynonna shouts at Waverly, who’s driving, over the clamor coming form the stereo. “Or T-Swizzle, or One Direction, or whatever sucky boy-band that’s your flavor of the month. Cue ‘em up. Anything but _Love Shack_ on one track repeat, I’m begging you, please…”

“Nuh-uh ‘Nonna, not until you promise to stop playing _Demon Seed_ on a loop when you’re driving.”

Nicole and Chrissy, huddled together in the cramped rear, exchange a pained look. _Love Shack’s_ been playing for well over an hour now and neither Earp sister is backing down. Nicole’s beginning to really rue her driver-chooses-the-tunes rule.

“C’mon sis, think of all the poor citizens of Bumfuck, Montana you’re inflicting this god-awful racket on.”

The Mustang’s top is down, and the music is cranked up loud, so they are indeed broadcasting _Love Shack_ to everyone and everything they pass as they cruise down the I-15.

“Super rude, ‘Nonna. We’re in Red Rock not Bumfuck,” Waverly yells back calmly, somehow maintaining a straight face. “And I’m sure if they knew it was this or _Demon Seed_ they’d be thanking me.”

Wynonna tries a different tack. “Let’s put a pin in the music convo for now then babygirl,” she hollers over the music. “We need to find a gas station, stat, ‘cos I need to pee. Like _really_ need to pee, my bladder’s throbbing like a jellyfish.”

Waverly side-eyes her sister. She reluctantly turns the music down low enough to hold a conversation. “Nice try, but I’m not buying it. Nuh-uh. It’s a ploy to take back the driver’s seat, I know.”

“Really? So cynical sis. You leave me with no choice then,” Wynonna says in a you’ll-be-sorry voice, “I’ll just have to pee in a bottle.” She starts rummaging around in the trash bag at her feet.

What the hell? “Oh no way Earp, you will _not_ be peeing inside my Mustang,” Nicole warns.

“Hear that Waves? The _owner_ of the car is insisting we hit up a gas station,” Wynonna smarms.

Waverly shoots Nicole a look that’s all you’re-really-falling-for-this-crap? But Nicole’s not willing to take a chance when it comes to Wynonna, she’s stubborn as hell, she’ll probably follow through just ‘cos. So she nods a resigned affirmative.

“Fine, I suppose you have had like eight coffees already today,” Waverly grumbles. “It’s possible you might actually need to pee I s’pose.”

“Exactly. And ya know I’ve only had to have that many coffees today because I spent the night in a _fucking bath-tub._ ”

“Bullshit ‘Nonna, you drink that much coffee everyday.”

And so it goes.

///

“I’m dead-set expecting a tumbleweed or two to roll past any second now,” Wynonna quips as the four of them stare morosely at the only gas station within forty miles.

Nicole thinks it looks more like a barn then a gas station. If it’s signage is to be believed Ike’s Exxon Services is also a convenience store, a diner, a hunting and fishing supplies store, a garage, and a liquor store.

“I think my odds of getting a froyo aren’t high here,” Chrissy mutters despondently.

Nicole claps the blonde on the back. “Maybe not, but if you’re in the market for some beef jerky or an AK-47 it looks like we’ve come to right place.”

A bell tinkles as they enter. The impression that the proprietors are trying to squeeze too many businesses into one is confirmed inside. It’s crazy cluttered with fishing gear, Montana-themed tourist kitsch, groceries and liquor, and an entire wall of guns and knives.

Waverly does a double take. “Holy crap is that a stuffed coyote by the door?”

And oh yeah, there are _a lot_ of stuffed dead animals in here.

“Uh huh,” Nicole says, “don’t look now but there’s also a stuffed honey badger standing guard over the Smirnoff and Jack Daniel’s cabinet.”

“Afternoon lay-dees,” A great bull of a man in a _Make America Great Again_ t-shirt and hunting vest greets them from behind what Nicole assumes is the counter. It’s a little hard to tell given that every bit of available space inside is covered in merchandise. “You here for the fly fishin’?”

Wynonna snorts. “Dude, do we fucking look like we’re here to fish?”

Waverly swats her sister. “No sir we’re not, we were hoping to get a late lunch and use the bathroom?” she says, all sugar and sunshine.

The man — Doug, according to the name-tag Nicole spots — squints at Wynonna suspiciously for a long, drawn out moment but caves to Waverly’s polite manners and sweet smile. “Bathroom’s out back,” he points a thumb to the rear of the building, “and the diner’s over there.”

The ‘diner’ appears to consist of three tables in the middle of the hunting goods section.

Waverly, Chrissy and Nicole pull up a chair at one of the tables while Wynonna disappears to the bathroom.

Doug ambles over to them with menus. “Probably a good thing you’re not here for the fishin’.” He winks. “State law says it’s technically illegal for unmarried women to fish alone here in Montana ya know. Not that we ever enforce it.”

The three of them share a what-the-fuck look. That’s some seriously patriarchal bullshit there.

“We’re not in Kansas anymore Toto,” Chrissy says under her breath, perusing the very limited looking menu. “And definitely no froyo.”

Fifteen minutes later, Nicole is about to tuck into the world’s saddest looking chocolate brownie when Wynonna drops down beside her with a brown blob on her plate.

“Dude. Is that supposed to resemble a donut?” Nicole asks.

“It gets worse,” Wynonna laments, poking at it with a fork, “it’s gluten free.”

No way. Of all the places they’ve been or are going to, Lima, Montana is the last place she’s expect to find a gluten free donut.

Once she’s done eating Wynonna goes suspiciously quiet, furtively tapping away at her phone under the table. Every now and again she cackles to herself. Nicole’s spidey senses start to tingle. She knows the signs, Wynonna’s up to something.

“Yo Haughtsauce, would you say you’re a top or a bottom in the sack?”

_What the hell?_

“That’s a really personal question Earp, and you know most people are kinda both — wait, why are you asking me this?”

“Top then, gotcha.” She goes back to tapping at her phone under the table.

She arches a brow at Waverly and Chrissy, who look equally puzzled by Wynonna’s odd behavior.

“Wy what are you—”

Wynonna puts a hand up. “Wait a sec,” she says, tapping at her phone again. Finally, she finishes whatever the hell she’s doing and places her phone down on the table in front of her. She steeples her hands in front of her, looking smug. “So, I have some good news Haught.”

_Oh God, something bad is coming._

“As you know I think it’s very important that you cut loose on this trip. You’ve been…uptight lately. So…” Wynonna pauses, drawing out the reveal. “I’ve signed you up to a hookup app.”

“You did WHAT?!”

“Now before you get your panties in a wad hear me out. We’re not talking Tinder here, it’s a party app, PartyWith. It matches people who are on the road with local people who are throwing parties, or looking to party with someone. Though hookups kind of come naturally in that scenario, if ya follow me…” Wynonna waggles her brows lewdly.

Nicole groans. This is _so_ not happening right now.

“What about meeting girls the regular way Wynonna?” she pleads. Not that she has any interest in that — because, Waverly — but at least it’s easier to dodge than…whatever this is.

“Well as Waves pointed out to me yesterday, the lesbian dating pool isn’t exactly extensive, especially out here in the boonies. So I had to get a little creative,” she says, sounding proud of herself.

_Wait…Waverly had something to do with this? Waverly wants her to meet other girls?_

That stings. Only a few hours ago Waverly had taken Nicole’s hand and laid it against her heart, had looked at her with something that seemed a whole lot more than friendship in her eyes.

But then it’s always been like this with Waverly hasn’t it? Mixed messages and emotional whiplash.

She shoots a hurt glance the brunette’s way.

“Uh-uh. No…nope. ‘Nonna you know I had nothing to do with this,” Waverly insists, twisting at one of her rings anxiously and looking panicked. “This is nuts. Nicole I promise I had no fricken’ idea about this.”

Okay, so maybe Waverly wasn’t in on Wynonna’s scheming after all.

“Whatever works for you babygirl,” Wynonna sings, nonplussed, poking at the remains of her donut. “But a chin-wag with you inspired the whole app idea.”

Chrissy buries her head in her hands and sighs loudly. Nicole thinks she hears her groan the word _idiots_.

“Let me see it,” Nicole says in a flat voice full of dread. “Let me see the profile you made.”

Wynonna hands over her phone. “Don’t bother trying to delete it Haughtstuff, I have backups and I can create a new account like that.” She clicks her fingers, grinning devilishly.

Nicole swipes to her faux-bio. She’s not surprised to find that Wynonna’s used the shot of Nicole in a bikini as the profile pic. Guess she forwarded it to herself after all.

“Redhaught69 as a username Wy, really?”

“What, I needed something to indicate you’re up for naughty times.”

“I think writing ‘CASUAL SEX ONLY’ in full caps at the top of the profile already made that abundantly clear,” Nicole deadpans.

“Well I thought it was best to be explicit. Otherwise, serial monogamist that you are, you’d end up in long distance relationship with a closeted Amish girl or something.”

Chrissy snorts. “The Amish don’t have cell phones Wynonna. Unless they’re on Rumspringa.”

“What the fuck is a Rumspringa?”

“Wy, I really don’t like this…” Nicole whines.

“Oh come on dude, you should be thanking me, this is a genius idea. It’s not like you have to sleep with any of these girls if you don’t want to. Plus it gets us access to parties, and free booze and munchies. We’re not exactly flush with cash. Think of the money we can save.”

Of course. Wynonna’s always working some angle.

“So what, you’re really just pimping me out for party access, for free booze and food?”

“Well it sounds kinda bad when you put it like that—”

Nicole’s phone starts ringing. Shae’s name flashes up on the display for everyone to see.

_What impeccable timing. Not._

“I’ve gotta take this,” Nicole says, standing up. Her gaze lands on Waverly, who looks concerned. After their talk last night she’ll know what Nicole taking this call means. “But we’re not done with this conversation Earp.”  
  
“Right on Haughtsauce. Say hi to the ice queen for me.”

///

When Nicole gets back to the table it’s just Waverly left waiting for her.

“Hey Nic,” she says, doing her little wave thing, her eyes soft. “The others are back in the ‘Stang.” She grins. “Wynonna stocked up big time on bear repellent on the way out.”

Nicole chuckles, picturing it. “I bet she did. Good thing she never spotted the stuffed grizzly out by the beer fridge huh?”

“Oh yeah.” Waverly smiles, although it’s a little forced, her mind clearly on things other than her sister’s bear-phobia. “So that was Shae—”

“Yep.”

“Did you, you know?” Waverly asks, eyes downcast as she shreds a Snickers wrapper, trying for casual.

“Yeah, I did.”

Waverly’s gaze rushes up to meet Nicole’s. They stare at each other for a beat and it feels like there’s so much being said, without anything being said at all.

“Did she, um, take it okay?”

Nicole looks away. Guilt and sadness claw at her as she recalls Shae’s initial happiness at Nicole finally returning her calls, before things had turned sour. “If you call stony silence and being hung up on okay, then yeah I’d say she took it just great.” She tries to smile, but it comes out crooked.

“Oh Nic.” Waverly scrapes her chair alongside hers and folds her into a tight hug. “I’m sorry,” she mouths into her hair.

“S’okay. It’s for the best.” Nicole allows herself to get lost in the comfort of Waverly’s embrace for a long moment, before sitting back.

Waverly takes one of her hands and threads their fingers together. She looks at Nicole beseechingly. “You know I didn’t have anything to do with that dumbass app thing, right? I mean, ‘Nonna mentioned yesterday she was plotting something, but not what.”

Nicole nods, feeling bad about her earlier doubts. “I know Waves, it’s okay, really.”

“In her weird way Wynonna is just trying to help, you know? She thinks Shae is toxic for you.” Waverly frowns. “She, um, seems to think you need to sleep around to get her out of your system.”

Nicole is well aware of her best friend’s dislike for Shae Pressman and her fixation with Nicole joining the casual sex club.

“Well that might be how Wy deals with breakups, but it’s not my style,” Nicole assures her. She reaches across and brushes a stray stand of hair back behind Waverly’s ear. It’s an intimate, tender gesture. Too intimate, really, for where they currently stand with each other.

Waverly’s lashes flutter, and she looks dazed. “So you’re not gonna… _you know_ …with any of the girls she tries to set you up with then?”

It’s a loaded question.

“No Waves, I’m not.” She says it like the promise it is and the relief in Waverly’s eyes is unmistakable.

All of the unspoken things between them weigh heavily on Nicole in that moment. Part of her wishes Waverly _would_ just say it, would just tell her she doesn’t want Nicole to touch anyone else.

But she doesn’t want to push, doesn’t want to scare Waverly if she’s still confused, or not ready.

This time she’ll wait. As long it takes.

///

Waverly loves her paper map.

She loves the touch and feel of it as she traces their path south. She loves the way it shows her all of her surroundings, how it opens the whole world up to her. With a sat-nav as a guide, she thinks, nothing is learned nor loved about a journey.

Right now she’s marking the location of the accommodation she’s just booked for them tonight, a cabin on the outskirts of Idaho Falls.

She glances up just as they flash past the Welcome to Idaho sign.

“Seeya Big Sky State,” Nicole mutters under her breath from the seat next to her. “Stay classy.”

The two of them are squished together in the rear of the Mustang, ‘Nonna having very predictably nabbed the driver’s seat when Waverly had hung back to talk to Nicole after her call to Shae.

It’s okay, though, because Nicole has threatened to revoke ‘Nonna’s driving privileges if she plays Nine Inch Nails again today.

She smiles to herself, remembering the fuss her sister had kicked up and the cool, calm but forceful way Nicole had handled her. The redhead is crazy hot when she gets all authoritative.

Waverly sneaks a glance at Nicole. She’s brooding again, eyes fixed on the endless brown plains they’re cruising through.

The road has a way of lulling them all into their own unique fugue states. Waverly passes the time reading or mapping their progress; Chrissy Snapchats and sketches; Wynonna naps if she’s not driving. But Nicole…she just keeps her eyes fixed steadily on the horizon and retreats into herself. Waverly suspects her mind is on her mother in these times.

Nicole yawns then, squirming in her seat next to Waverly, clearly uncomfortable. It’s a very tight squeeze back here for someone with legs as long as Nicole’s.

Waverly pats her lap. “You should nap Nic.” Given how late they were up talking last night, and how early the redhead rose to go running, she can’t have had more than four or five hours sleep.

Nicole hesitates, before relenting and adjusting her seatbelt so that she can curl up, her head settled on Waverly’s lap. “Thanks Waves.”

It’s a little awkward but it mostly works, it’s how Chrissy naps when she’s in the back with Waverly.

But Nicole isn’t Chrissy and Waverly can’t resist reaching out and touching the redhead. One hand goes to run her fingers through Nicole’s hair, the other rubs soothing patterns into the exposed skin above her hip-bone, where her shirt has ridden up.

It’s too intimate. Everything about them lately is too intimate. It’s like their bodies are way ahead of their minds, trying to set a pace neither can keep up with.

“Mmm that’s nice,” Nicole murmurs, nuzzling into her lap. With Waverly’s help it doesn’t take long for her breathing to even out, all the worry and strain seeping out of her features, replaced by peaceful innocence as she falls into slumber.

Even then Waverly can’t stop with the touching. She grazes her fingertips lightly across Nicole’s jawline, her cheekbones, the beauty spot beneath her eye, the scar on her right temple; a scar with deep history, a scar that binds Wynonna and Nicole together in a way that Waverly almost envies.

_Shit._

Thinking of ‘Nonna snaps her out her daze. She’s not exactly being subtle back here if Wynonna should glance in the mirror.

Thankfully her sister seems to be engrossed in a heated argument with Chrissy about how to construct the perfect Doritos sandwich, which is just…ew.

Waverly starts to drift off herself when a loud roar sounds next to her.

She looks up to see a late-model black Chevrolet Silverado with monster-sized wheels and a massive grille guard running along the I-15 in lockstep with the Mustang, it’s engine revving aggressively.

_Oh boy. Here we go again._

They’ve already attracted plenty of unwanted redneck attention along the way so far; four girls in a Mustang is a magnet for that sort of thing, especially when the top’s down like it is now.

This lot are different though, they’re not locals. There are three of them, college guys from them looks of ‘em, maybe on a road trip like they are, based on the Washington plates.

“What the fuck?” Wynonna exclaims. “Are they wearing sombreros in Idaho?”

Waverly squints. All three are indeed decked out in massive black sombreros. “Yes, yes they are,” she confirms. They’re probably on a road trip to Mexico.

The biggest one, in the rear of the cab, stares down at them and makes a lewd jerking-off gesture with his hands.

Wynonna gives him a savage middle finger. “Not interested buddy,” she shouts.

That provokes an extreme response.

“’The fuck? Did that skidmark in the back just moon us?”

Chrissy snorts, disgusted. “Uh-huh and it wasn’t pretty, let me tell you. Boy needs to learn how to wax.”

“Oh I don’t think so fuckers. It’s time for a little emasculation.” Wynonna guns the engine. “Chrissy cue _Danger Zone_ , we’re going Top Gun on these assholes.”

Uh-oh. Things are about to get freaky.

Chrissy cranks up the stereo as Wynonna shifts down a gear and accelerates. The Mustang surges forward on a wave of torque, it’s wheels spinning up so aggressively Waverly catches an acrid whiff of burnt rubber.

Then they’re drag racing, flying down the interstate with the Silverado giving chase, the Top Gun soundtrack blasting away.

_Highway to the danger zone. I'll take you ridin' into the danger zone._

Nicole stirs in Waverly’s lap, the loud music and the wind they’re churning up finally rousing her.

“What’s going on?” she asks, sitting up, groggy at first, looking adorably confused.

“Some douchebag college bros mooned us Haughtsauce,” Wynonna shouts from the front. “Buckle up, they’re gonna eat our dust.”

Nicole winces as she catches sight of the speedometer. “Ninety-five Wynonna? Holy shit. Slow down.”

“No way dude, I’m just getting started,” Wynonna hollers back, voice thick with adrenalin.

“Oh God, if you blow my baby’s engine—”

Wynonna weaves past a Honda that must be doing less than half their speed, one hand on the wheel, a twizzler hanging from her mouth. “Chill Haught, it’s all under control.”

Waverly enjoys speed, she has a bit of a lead foot herself, if she’s honest. But this is ridiculous.

Correction: this is fucking terrifying.

She grips Nicole’s hand hard. At least if she’s gonna die it’s going to be cuddled up with the redhead.

They top out at a hundred and forty miles per hour and at that pace the Silverado never stands a chance. It fades into a distant speck on the horizon behind them.

“Slow the hell down _now_ Wynonna, before we get a ticket,” Nicole growls. “Or worse, jail time.”

Wynonna reluctantly complies, letting out a triumphant whoop at her victory, and Waverly exhales. That was…stressful.

Thirty miles later, they’re all just settling back into their routines when a loud boom sounds. A rhythmic thumping starts up and the Mustang begins to vibrate badly. Wynonna slows the car to a crawl, eventually pulling over to the side of the road, hazard lights on.

“Looks like we gotta flat,” Wynonna says in a small voice.

Nicole’s nostrils flare, temper fraying. “I wonder how that happened Wynonna? Any chance you cut up the rubber with your little speed demon exhibition back there?”

“Well it’s possible you over-inflated the tires Haughtsauce—”

“Oh no, don’t you dare put this on me Earp—”

“Guys let’s just calm down,” Waverly says soothingly, finding herself in the relatively rare position of having to play peace-maker between these two. “It’s just a flat. You’ve got a spare right Nic?”

Nicole clenches her jaw, visibly willing herself to calm down. It seems to work. “Yeah, Waves. ‘Course I do. Everyone’s gonna need to get out though. Can’t change a flat with a full car.”

They unload out onto the highway’s shoulder. They’re in the middle of absolutely nowhere, nothing but flat brown scrub and power lines as far as the eye can see. The sky is gunmetal grey; not raining yet, but threatening to. Occasionally a car whizzes by, kicking up a gust of wind that blows Waverly’s hair all over the place. She folds her arms across her body, feeling exposed.

Nicole’s already gotten the jack out and is feverishly working away loosening the lug nuts with a wrench.

“Good thing we packed a lesbian, am I right peeps?”

That earns Wynonna the stink-eye from the redhead. “You own a motorcycle that you repair yourself, and you worked part-time in a garage one summer, I’m pretty sure you know how to change a flat Wy.”

“But you look so much better while you’re doing it Haughtpants,” Wynonna snarks. “Speaking of which…” She dives into her pockets for her phone, pulls it out and starts recording Nicole while she works. “I’m so giffing the shit out of this for your bio. It’s lesbian catnip.”

Nicole shakes her head and mutters something dark under her breath, focusing her attention on jacking the car up.

Waverly’s gotta admit watching Nicole make short work of the flat is mad sexy. The redhead brings an effortless, fluid grace to everything she does, and Waverly enjoys observing the way the muscles in her shoulders ripple as she hefts the shredded tire off its fixings.

_Yep I could watch this all day long…_

A loud blast of a horn and the obnoxious sound of Metallica pumping out shatters her Nicole-trance.

_Oh poop._

The Silverado is back.

The three guys spill out of it, looking big time smug that they’ve caught up. Definitely football players, Waverly thinks, from the size of them and the matching CWU jerseys two of them are wearing.

“Hey there little ladies, need some help?” the tallest one asks. He’s handsome in an Abercrombie and Fitch catalog kind of way. All fluffy hair, designer jeans, vintage t-shirt and expensive trainers.

“Hola girls!” the second one, who Waverly thinks resembles an over-sized, wealthier version of Champ, chirps, sweeping off his sombrero.

The third one, the one that mooned them — who’s fricken’ huge, by the way, so huge he must play offensive line — just stands there leering at Chrissy’s cleavage.

“We’ve got it under control jockstrap, but thanks,” Wynonna says tepidly, pointing a thumb at Nicole who’s finished replacing the tire and is now jacking down the car. “So howdya like being out-dragged by a car full of Canuck girls, huh boys?”

“Uh,” the taller one, who appears to be their designated leader, scratches his chin and looks put out. “We were obeying the speed limit, lot of cops around today you know? And it was the gentlemanly thing to let you ladies win, anyhows.”

“Riiiight,” Wynonna says, rolling her eyes at the obvious lie.

”So where y’all headin’? If you’re Canucks you’re a long way from home aren’t ya?”

At that moment the huge guy takes a step forward into Chrissy’s space, not even trying to disguise his attempt to look down her shirt. It’s kind of gross. He seems to completely lack social graces.

“Dallas,” Nicole answers for them in a clipped tone, rising from her knee and placing herself at her full height beside Chrissy, her stance protective.

“Sweet,” the tall one says, undeterred by the chill in Nicole’s voice. “We’re heading down to Cancún.”

“We figured. You know, with the hats and all?”

Waverly finds herself instinctively gravitating to Nicole’s side too. She spots a smudge of grease on the redhead’s cheek and reaches up to try and swipe it away. It just ends up making more of a mess of her face, but Nicole smiles down her thanks adorably anyway.

The tall guy’s eyes are now roaming all over Nicole’s body. “I gotta say red, I like a girl that doesn’t mind gettin’ her hands dirty.” He licks his lips suggestively.

Chrissy chokes back a laugh.

“Sorry big boy, you’re not my type.” Nicole flashes her rainbow wristband at him, sending him a clear and direct message.

It takes longer than it should to register, but when it does his reaction is comical.

“Oh…oh right.” He looks back and forth between Nicole and Waverly, and then Nicole and Chrissy. Waverly can see him adding two and two together and getting five based on how close the three of them are standing and the way she just touched Nicole. “We, ah, best be on our way now then boys. Bye girls.”

They hustle back to the Silverado and tear off back down the I-15, tires screeching.

“Oh my god.” Chrissy’s laughing so hard she’s clutching her stomach. “I’m pretty sure they decided to cut out in a hurry ‘cos they thought the three of us are in some sort of poly relationship.”

“Meh.” Wynonna waves a dismissive hand. “At least it got rid of ‘em. Football players are lamo meatheads. Now hockey boys…”

///

“I think we might need to consider upping our accommodation budget peeps,” Wynonna observes dryly, as the four of them take in their dismal digs for the night.

Nicole sighs. _Well this sucks._

Turns out the ‘charming cabin in the woods’ they’ve booked on the outskirts of Idaho Falls is actually a derelict trailer parked in the backfields of a sugar-beet farm.

“What the heck?” Waverly hisses, getting her phone out to compare the photos on the website to what’s in front of her. “Shoot, the shit tickets that run this place must be using fake reviews. I thought it was suspiciously cheap for a two-bedder.”

“Is it just me or is the front door about to fall off?” Chrissy says, alarmed.

Nicole squints. The front door is indeed hanging on by just one hinge and flapping wildly in the strong evening breeze. “Yep, but on the plus side guys, we’re not exactly in prime burglar territory,” she says, surveying the endless flat farmland they’re ringed by.

“Maybe it’ll be better inside?” Chrissy says, not sounding hopeful.

It isn’t.

The interior is cramped as hell, the ceiling’s so low Nicole has to hunker down so as not to bump her head. The walls are fibro and painted a sickly shade of pink. A fine layer of dust covers everything.

The two bedrooms are tiny, separated by a thin wall, and the beds inside them are…cosy.

“Home sweet home,” Wynonna cackles, throwing herself at one of the mattresses, expecting it to bounce. Instead it sags comically under her weight, swallowing her up. “Haughtdamn, save me!” she yelps, “I’m stuck, this fucking bed is trying to eat me.”

Nicole yanks Wynonna up. “They’ve already taken our cash and it’s just for one night. We’ll make it work I guess?”

“Fine, but if I get bedbugs—”

“I have a feeling even bedbugs would consider this place below their standards Wy.”

Nicole makes to follow Chrissy and Waverly when they go out to fetch their bags, but Wynonna holds her back.

“Dude, we need to have a quick pow-wow about our sleeping arrangements,” she says in a hushed, hurried voice.

Uh-oh, she should have seen this coming. Of course Wynonna is going to try and ditch Chrissy as a bedmate. After all, there’s not even a bath-tub in this place.

“Sorry, I’m off the market Earp. You had your chance,” she says breezily. “You chose Chrissy.”

“I didn’t realize we were entering a long-term relationship for Christ’s sake! And you’d seriously choose the blanket burrito over all this?” Wynonna waves a hand in her own direction, preening a little.

“Uh huh.” Sleeping next to Waverly might be an exquisite form of torture for Nicole but she’s not keen on experiencing Waverly’s wrath if she tries to pull a switcheroo. Plus, it’s kind of nice waking up next to the prettiest girl in the world.

“Can’t we at least rock, paper, scissors for who gets Chrissy?” Wynonna whines.

“Nope, I don’t think Waves would like that.”

“God, my sister has you so whipped. It’s disgusting.”

_You don’t know the half of it._

“Whatever,” Wynonna sighs, resigned. “At least I have earplugs now. Not that they’re gonna be enough in this crazy ass tight space.” Her eyes light up, like she’s had a flash of inspiration. “I’ve got an idea.” She picks up one of the pillows from the bed, slips off her belt and ties the pillow around her head with it, so that her ears are covered. “Whatdya think?”

“I think you’re ridiculous…” Nicole trails off, catching sight of something large, brown and hairy that must have been nesting under the pillow Wynonna just removed from the bed.

_Holy crap that is one giant ass spider._

Her heart races and her palms break out into a sweat. Nicole isn’t scared of many things, but spiders are at the very top of that short list.

She steps as far back into the corner of the room as she can manage. “Wy there’s a spider…”

“What’s that? I can’t hear you through this thing. Guess it works hey?” Wynonna looks pleased with herself.

“I said there’s a fucking great spider right next to your leg!”

“There’s a case of cider on my head? That makes no sense. You finally taken up the ‘shrooms at last Haught?”

_Oh for God’s sake._

Nicole points at the spider, eyes wide and expressive.

Wynonna follows Nicole’s outstretched finger. When she spots the critter she jumps about a foot in the air. “Eek, what the fuckety fuck is that thing?” she yowls, tearing off her pillow earmuffs and backpedaling at high speed into the wall next to Nicole.

“I reckon it might be the world largest spider Earp.”

Wynonna clutches at Nicole’s shirt. “Do something Haught.”

“Why does it have to be me?”

“You’re the hero. The firefighter. The wannabe cop.”

“I don’t think they teach you how to subdue spiders at the police academy Wy,” she deadpans.

Chrissy arrives then, strolling in with her bag. “What’s got you two drama queens all het up?”

“Look out Nedley junior,” Wynonna entreats, pointing. “There’s a mutant eight-legged raccoon on the bed.”

Chrissy looks back and forth between the spider and the two of them, bemused. “Really guys?” She shakes her head, leaves the room and comes back a moment later with a bowl and a copy of Cosmopolitan.

Calm as can be she coaxes the furry interloper into the bowl and covers it, using the magazine as a lid.

“Aww little-miss-biker-chick and little-miss-adrenalin-sports-junkie are afraid of a poor little, curly, wurly spider,” she croons at it in a baby voice. She wanders away, presumably to release the damned thing outdoors.

They look at each other, slack-jawed.

“Those Nedley’s are tough bastards,” Wynonna mutters. “Not a word of this to Waverly, under any circumstance, you hear me?”

“Roger that.”

///

It’s official, Waverly Earp _is_ trying to kill her.

It’s later that night and they’re in a dive bar, or what passes for a dive bar in conservative, Mormon-run Idaho Falls, shooting pool.

It’s two-on-two, the Earp sisters versus Nicole and Chrissy. The Earps are totally demolishing them, of course, kickass pool sharks that they are.

Waverly’s switched up her outfit to a sleeveless, low-cut turquoise crop-top and a very short denim skirt.

There is a _lot_ of skin on display. Toned shoulders, defined abs and taut back muscles. And then there’s the way Waverly keeps wiggling her butt whenever she leans over for a shot. Nicole swears she’s doing it deliberately to get a rise out of her.

“Yo, Haughtshot,” Wynonna snaps, clicking her fingers. “Focus.”

“Huh?”

“I said, what about this one?” Wynonna shoves her phone in Nicole’s face, the annoying hookup app open on it.

“Dude, this girl’s profile pic is a cat in onesie.”

“I know but I figure you like cats, so…”

“Not to date Wy, not to date.”

Waverly sashays up to her. “Your shot.” She passes Nicole the pool cue, her fingers brushing purposely against Nicole’s. They’re standing so close together that when she looks down Nicole can’t help but cop an eyeful of Waverly’s boobs.

The brunette leans in close, so only Nicole can hear. “Hey Nicole?”

“Mmm?”

“My eyes are up here,” she whispers, smiling cockily.

It’s a neat bit of revenge for earlier in the day and confirmation that Waverly is definitely messing with her.

Nicole takes her turn, pockets two on the run which is a first for her this game.

When she finishes up Wynonna is back from the bar with yet another round of drinks. She’s lost count of how many shots of tequila and whiskey the other three have had — as designated driver she’s spent the night sipping slowly on a coke — but it’s a lot. Wynonna’s started to slur and use the word ‘fuck’ as a comma even more than usual.

Waverly takes another shot and Nicole’s eyes are drawn irresistibly to the way her top slides up her toned back as she connects cue and ball.

“Babygirl,” Wynonna slurs, “are you trying to snag a cute Idaho farm boy tonight in that outfit or something? You’re showing a shit-ton of skin and waving your ass around like a cat on heat.”

Chrissy chokes on her drink.

Waverly glares at her sister. “It’s not like I have an extensive wardrobe to draw on at the moment thanks to you Wynonna,” she snaps. “You’re lucky I didn’t hit the town tonight in a shower curtain.”

“Haught, take off your jacket and cover her up please,” Wynonna instructs, “it’s too much.”

“’Nonna…” Waverly whines, annoyed.

Nicole does as she’s told, because drunk Wynonna in protective older sister mode is not someone you want to cross. Waverly doesn’t resist, in fact she seems to like having the jacket on from the way she snuggles into it and sniffs at the fabric appreciatively. _Okay then._

“Well, well, well,” Wynonna grunts, “looky who just walked in the door…it’s the three lamo-bros.”

Nicole tenses. She’d hoped they’d seen the last of these guys. There’s something menacing about the largest one, something that sets off alarm bells for her. She’s been around enough college athletes now to spot a PEDs user and this guy screams it. PEDs are often a slippery slope to the harder recreational stuff, and she’d noticed how dilated his pupils were earlier in the day.

“Get your hustle on Waves, I smell some easy money heading our way.” Wynonna stands up, beckons them over.

Nicole groans internally at that. But the bar’s almost empty, it being late on a Monday night and all, so they were never gonna be able to avoid them anyway, she supposes.

Wynonna charms them smoothly into a high stakes game of pool and Nicole and Chrissy sit back and watch as the Earp sisters go to town dismantling their egos for the second time today.

It’s brutal, methodical stuff and the college bros are left scratching their heads at the speed of it.

The big one isn’t playing. He stands too close to Chrissy again and Nicole doesn’t like it. His eyes are bloodshot and his pupils are even more dilated than earlier. There’s a sense of barely contained agitation to him too, which heightens her suspicions he might be on cocaine or worse.

The taller one, the one who flirted with Nicole earlier in the day — whose name is Connor apparently — seems to lose interest in the game half-way through, once it’s clear they’ve been well and truly suckered.

He leans across to Nicole, speculation and something thirsty in his eyes. “So y’all three are dating right?” he inclines his head at Waverly and then Chrissy.

Nicole goes blank.

Chrissy spits out her drink.

Wynonna, of course, decides this is too good of an opportunity to stir shit up to resist. She slaps him on the back. “Why yes Connor they are, and phew, can you imagine what it’s like to be the fourth wheel in this scenario? I mean…sharing a motel room with a thruple. Things get craaazy let me tell you.”

Connor’s eyes bug out of his head.

Chrissy’s clearly had one too many tequilas and is suffering under Wynonna’s bad influence because she decides to play along. She snakes an arm around Nicole’s waist and pulls her in close. “Say gorgeous, any chance you could get me another drink?” she simpers, raising her empty shot glass and leaning up to plant a kiss on Nicole’s cheek.

“Chrissy stop that right now,” Waverly hisses, death-ray-eyes back and aimed squarely at the pair of them.

_Oh God, this is messy._

“Can it Waves,” Wynonna whispers behind her hand, “you’re ruining the comedy gold.”

To the college bros, in a louder voice, she says, “oops, trouble in paradise. You know how thruples are…so much politics.”

Waverly grabs Nicole’s hand and wrenches her out of Chrissy’s grasp. “Fine then. My _girlfriend_ and I are going to go and dance.”

Wynonna’s brows shoot up but she can hardly protest.

Waverly leads Nicole across the bar to the small dance floor near the aging jukebox. She wraps her arms around her neck and presses her body flush against Nicole’s, grinding a little. They start a slow shuffle, Brenda Lee’s _I’m Sorry_ playing softly in the background.

It’s sensory overload for Nicole, and it brings back painful memories.

“How many tequilas have you had?” she murmurs into Waverly’s ear.

“Not nearly enough to deal with hearing Chrissy call you gorgeous.”

“Don’t be mad,” Nicole soothes, “she didn’t mean anything by it, it’s just one of Wynonna’s silly jokes.”

Waverly sighs. “I know.”

Nicole takes in their audience. Idaho Falls is a small town, a conservative town, and two girls dancing together like this isn’t commonplace based on the looks — some curious, some hostile — the few remaining patrons are sending their way.

Wynonna too, is watching them a little too thoughtfully for Nicole’s comfort.

“We should probably stop Waves.”

But Waverly responds by trying to pull Nicole impossibly closer. “Just a little longer,” she insists.

So they keep dancing, and Nicole does her best to not lose herself completely in Waverly, knowing that it would be unwise to with certain eyes upon them.

Looking out over the brunette’s shoulder Nicole’s gaze falls to the pool table and lingers for a moment. Something about the scene niggles at her.

Chrissy isn’t there, she realizes, and neither is the huge guy.

A chill runs down her spine.

And then she’s breaking out of Waverly’s hold and Waverly’s whimpering “Nicole—” but there’s no time to worry about that because her instincts are screaming at her that something’s wrong here.

She strides across to Wynonna. “Where’s Chrissy?” she demands, voice taut.

Wynonna’s eyes are glazed, all the whiskey she’s downed is starting to take a visible toll. “She left her phone in the car…went out to fetch it,” she slurs.

“How long ago?”

“What’s that?”

“How long ago Wynonna?” she asks urgently. “How long ago did she leave?”

“I dunno, a few minutes max. What’s up with the possessive act Haughtshot? You aren’t really dating Chrissy you know.”

Nicole doesn’t dignify that with a response. “Where’s the big guy?”

“No fucking idea, I’m not keeping tabs. Jesus, you’re like a German Shepherd sometimes. I’m sure Nedley junior’s fine, probably out in the car Snapchatting with Perry again or something.”

But Nicole can’t shake this feeling of dread and she breaks into a sprint, heading for the exit.

The parking lot is dimly lit. A neon Miller Beer sign, flickering annoyingly, provides most of that dim light and it bathes everything she can see a ghastly shade of red.

Nicole hears a soft grunt to her left and that’s when she spots them. The huge asshole has Chrissy pinned against the side of the Mustang. His hands are on her, pawing at the buttons of her shirt, but not yet beneath it, though his intent is clear. Relief courses through her. _She’s in time._

“Get your fucking hands off her, man. Now.”

He pivots when he clocks Nicole’s presence, but keeps Chrissy pressed down. A vein throbs in his neck and he looks monstrous in the red light. He’s definitely high on something.

“Or what?” he growls. It’s the first time she’s ever heard him speak, she realizes.

_Or this._

She lunges at him, winding up to deliver a right cross to his chin like her life depends on it, and maybe someone’s does.

The impact is worse for her than him — a searing fire that ripples through her knuckles, making her wonder if she’s broken something — but it’s enough, enough to momentarily loosen his hold on Chrissy.

“Run,” she shouts and the blonde, after a brief stunned moment, obeys.

Nicole stumbles back a step. It’s done, Chrissy’s safe.

The huge asshole turns to face her then and grins, a rabid grin, like this is the sort of violence he’s actually been hankering for all along.

She’s badly outmatched here. This dude must weigh at least two hundred and fifty pounds to her one thirty. She’s taken a few self-defense classes over the years, but she’s only ever been in one real fight, and that didn’t exactly end well.  
  
_Just run_ her instincts sing.

But she’s never been much for running, she’s stupid and stubborn like that.

He moves towards her almost casually. It’s deceptive. There’s power and violence in every step. She realizes too late that she’s being herded into a corner, that there’s no way out.

And then he’s rushing, hurling himself at her like she’s one of those tackling dummies football players use in practice. When he makes contact she experiences a bone-jarring crunch, then a brief moment of weightlessness as she flies through the air, before slamming with a sick thud into the side of a sedan.

She vaguely registers the tinkling sound of glass shattering, then she’s sliding and when she meets the ground it’s like a thousand tiny knives are slicing into her gut. She tastes blood, metallic and feels blood start to pool beneath her as well, wet and sticky.

It’s too much. She’s winded and wounded; she’s no quitter but she’s wrecked, physically. She can’t get up.

“Stand down shit-strumpet.”

_Oh god no._

_Waverly._

She rolls onto her side. The brunette’s standing a few yards to her right, visibly shaking, incandescent with rage. It almost makes her smile. If he wasn’t so drug-addled Nicole suspects that even this shithead would be intimidated by the hurricane that is Waverly Earp in full fury.

But then the seriousness of their situation hits home. Driven by a desperate impulse to protect Waverly she somehow manages to lurch back onto her feet. She staggers to the right, clutching her bleeding stomach, positioning herself in between Waverly and their attacker.

For all the good it will do.

“Run Waverly,” she urges, anguished. “Please.”

“Nuh-uh. I’m not leaving you Nicole.”

_Goddammit._

The soft click of a safety being released cuts through the night air. “Back off you fucker. Now. Or you’re gonna eat a lead sandwich.”

Wynonna Earp to the rescue. With a gun. Of course she has a gun, she always has a gun.

It’s not that old hunk of junk Peacemaker either thank god, but something smaller and sleeker, a Colt single-action pistol from the looks of it.

Chrissy stands behind Wynonna, arms folded protectively across her body.

The other two college bros pour out of the bar then, loud and obnoxious, along with a trickle of other patrons. It must be closing time.

“Shit that bitch has gotta gun pulled on Lando,” Connor exclaims, taking in the scene.

 _Lando._ So that’s his name. Finally she knows.

The shithead in question raises his hands and steps slowly backwards, away from Nicole and Waverly.

In the distance a siren begins to wail.

_Great. The cops are on the way._

Wynonna’s eyes go a little wild then and Nicole is reminded of just how volatile she can be in this state. She steps forward and gently takes the gun out of her best friend’s hands.

“Into the Mustang, now. All of you,” she orders, “we need to get out of here.”

Waverly looks confused. “Shouldn’t we wait for the police Nic?”

“Wynonna’s a foreign national with a record for gun offenses who just pulled an unlicensed pistol she presumably smuggled over the border. Also we’re all carrying fake IDs and you guys have been underage drinking. Sure you want to stick around Waves?”

The older Earp shakes her head, coming back to herself. “Haught’s right babygirl, we better jet.”

“But Nic, you’re injured, you’re covered in blood…”

She looks down at the shirt she’d changed into for their night out. It was once baby blue, it’s now a solid dark red from the fourth button down. “It doesn’t matter, there’s no time.”

They pile into the car and Nicole floors it. The rear wheels spin and spit gravel as the Mustang fishtails out of the parking lot.

Wynonna thumps the side of the car. “I knew you had a little Cole Trickle buried in there somewhere Haught.”

///

They make the trip back to the trailer in a stunned sort of silence.

Which is a relief to Nicole because with the pain she’s in and the wooziness she’s feeling from the blood loss it’s about all that she can manage just to keep the car heading in a straight line, especially when they plunge into the inky blackness of the back roads.

Nobody seems to be in a rush to get out of the Mustang when they do roll to a stop, however.

“So are we fugitives now?” Waverly asks in a small voice from the backseats.

Nicole rubs the back of her neck. “Honestly, I’m not sure. I don’t think so? But we’d do well to clear out of Idaho pretty quickly I reckon.”

“I’ve always wanted to do a Thelma and Louise,” Wynonna muses, tone reverent.

“What, you mean drive off the side of a cliff?” Nicole quips.

“No you idiot, I mean go full bandit and do a runner to Mexico. I’d be Louise, of course, the street-smart, put-together one. You’d be Thelma, the tall, ditzy sidekick.”

“Hey now, that doesn’t seem fair.”

“Don’t worry Nicole. Thelma totally has the better arc, she finds her bad-ass self out on the road. Plus, she’s hotter,” Chrissy says.

_Chrissy. God, she hasn’t even checked in with her yet._

“Are you okay Chris? Did that asshole hurt you?”

“Nah, I’ve copped worse on a Friday night at Shorty’s,” Chrissy says blithely. “But it was a close run thing. If you hadn’t come out when you did…” She shivers. “Thank you Nicole.”

There’s so much gratitude in Chrissy’s eyes. Nicole doesn’t feel worthy of it. If she’d been quicker off the mark he wouldn’t have laid a hand on her at all.

She swallows that thought and moves on to her next concern. “Wynonna where did that gun magically appear from?”  
  
Wynonna lowers her gaze and picks at a loose thread on her jeans. “A certain friend may have sourced it for me before we left home,” she admits.

Nicole and Waverly groan in unison.

“What, you slackers didn’t really expect me to visit rural America unarmed did you? We need protection. Tonight proves that. We’re not in Alberta anymore Toto, everyone here packs a gun. Even the hippies.”

“Wynonna—”

“Don’t start up with your judgy schtick Haught. That gun could have saved your life tonight.”

It also could have easily landed Wynonna in a jail cell, and still might, but Nicole’s not up for that fight now. “You’re right Wy.” She reaches across and squeezes her best friend’s shoulder.

What a shitshow of a night. She slumps back into her seat and exhales deeply.

_They’re okay. A bit beaten up, in her case, but okay, and that’s all that matters._

“Look at us, getting into bar brawls and coming home to our classy trailer,” Wynonna cackles as she steps out of the car. “We’re living the American dream peeps.”

///

“Take your shirt off please.”

Waverly’s had plenty of fantasies in which Nicole Haught undresses in front of her, but none of them have resembled this. In them she’s definitely not standing in the cramped bathroom of a dingy trailer, Nicole’s blood smeared messily across her favorite crop top, her hands shaking with residual adrenalin from a bar fight.

She gathers neosporin and bandages from the first-aid kit by the sink. When she turns around the redhead is still fumbling with her buttons, trying and failing to undo them with just her left hand.

It’s only then that Waverly registers how swollen her right hand is, the knuckles already blooming a deep shade of indigo.

_Jesus, how on earth did Nicole drive them home in this state?_

“Oh Nic,” she sighs. That hand needs ice, but they don’t have any. She considers sending Wynonna out to get some but it’s one a.m. and her sister is probably way over the legal limit.

So Waverly makes do. She kneels down in front of Nicole, undoes her buttons for her, one by one.

Even in these circumstances, with all the blood and all the bruises, it’s still a remarkably sensual activity to undress Nicole. She marvels at the way their bodies sing to each other; at the way she can’t resist leaning in close to pop each button slowly, deliberately, like it means something.

When she’s done they lock gazes for a prolonged beat, and Waverly’s sure she sees a white hot hunger to match her own there.

But then she’s slipping Nicole’s shirt off of her shoulders to reveal the full extent of the damage and her breath hitches.

_Ouch._

Nicole’s toned stomach is caked in a thick layer of dried blood, a shit-ton of small shards of glass still adhering to her skin. On her left side, just beneath her rib-cage, a long gash is still seeping. The good news is that it looks like it’s responsible for most of the bleeding; the rest are superficial scratches.

She sets to work with tweezers and a sponge, carefully removing the splinters of glass and cleaning the area, dabbing neosporin as she goes.

“You really need a hospital Nic,” Waverly warns when she gets to the main wound, “this thing needs stitches.”

Nicole shakes her head. “Can’t do that. It’s too risky for Wynonna. Just bandage it up please Waves.”

“It’s gonna scar…”

The redhead shrugs and smiles crookedly. “Chicks dig scars, right?”

Something clenches inside her then, and she looks away. Because yes, scars are sexy, but she can’t stand seeing Nicole banged up like this, and hates hearing her be so offhand about it.

Nicole catches her by the wrist, starts to rub slow, lazy circles in that way of hers, that way that always brings Waverly around. “You’re upset with me Waves,” she husks, “why are you upset with me?”

She closes her eyes, loses herself in Nicole’s touch.

“I’m not mad,” she says at last. “I-I’m…scared.”

She flashes back to earlier in the evening. “When I saw you lying there in a puddle of blood Nic…it was, god, it was horrible…and then you got up and I thought you’d been stabbed or shot…” The memory provokes a fresh wave of nausea. “You can’t do that to me again, okay?” her voice is rising now, cracking. “You can’t be so reckless.”

Sometimes she wonders if Nicole is always running towards danger because she _wants_ to get hurt, like there’s some deep seated grief eating away at her, making her believe she’s expendable, unworthy. It scares Waverly.

“I didn’t feel like I had a choice. Chrissy…”

Waverly grimaces. “I know.” Oh, does she know. She’d been so self-absorbed, so consumed by her petty jealousy, that her best friend had nearly been badly mauled while she was grinding away on the dance floor, totally unawares. She feels a sharp stab of shame.  
  
But she’s not the only one wrestling with a guilt complex, it seems.

Nicole has her head in her hands. “I messed up so bad tonight Waves,” she groans, voice thick with self-recrimination. “I promised Sheriff Nedley I’d keep her safe. Looked him right in the eye and promised him…and it’s only two days in and she almost gets—”

“Nicole don’t—”

“Then there’s Wynonna. She smuggled a gun over the god-damned border. Can you imagine if she’d been caught? And what if she does something crazy with it on this trip? She could get locked up again. Jesus, I should have seen this coming, of course she’d bring a gun…”

“Hey, Nicole. Stop it,” Waverly crouches down on her haunches, positions herself between Nicole’s legs and tilts the redhead’s chin back up with her thumb. “It’s. not. your. fault.”

Waverly’s almost flattened in that moment by an onslaught of intense longing to kiss the sadness, the guilt, right out of Nicole. To kiss her so long and so hard that the smile comes back to her eyes and her dimples bloom instead.

She settles for a lingering kiss to each cheek, savoring the warm softness of Nicole’s skin against her lips.

“You’re not being fair on yourself,” she murmurs against Nicole’s ear, stroking her hair. “You did everything right, you were amazing with Chrissy. And we’ll deal with ‘Nonna together, okay?”

The redhead nods, looking down her lashes at Waverly in that adoring way of hers.

They lapse into silence as Waverly goes to work applying a crepe bandage to the main wound, her touch delicate.

She can feel Nicole’s eyes tracking her the whole time.

“You make a really sexy nurse Waverly,” Nicole blurts in a dreamy voice. Then she looks horrified. “Oh god, my bad, please forget I just said that. I, uh, must have bumped my head earlier,” she rambles, breaking into a dopey, embarrassed grin.

_Uh-uh. Not this time._

“What if I don’t want to forget?” Waverly challenges, intense and fiery, and in that moment, as Nicole’s startled gaze lifts to meet her own, it feels like all the unsaid things between them are finally threatening to spill out.

Because she doesn’t want to forget Nicole saying something like that. She doesn’t want to dance this stupid dance anymore; she’s tired of running from this, tired of being afraid of it. Tired of thinking about all the things that are in their way, like Shae and Wynonna, rather than all things that make them right.

_Go above your nerve._

Waverly can feel the blood pounding in her ears and it gives her a strange sort of courage.

Dammit, she’s going to kiss Nicole Haught.

But she needs to make sure this time. She drops back on her haunches, searches Nicole’s eyes for permission. She finds an impossible tenderness there, and then, yes, the subtlest of nods.

That extra moment, that checking, ruins them and saves them.

Because after it, just as she’s about to lean in and finally capture Nicole’s lips, Wynonna bursts through the bathroom door, phone held aloft, eyes ablaze with victory.

“Awesome news Haughtsauce, I’ve found you the perfect girl!”

_Fudgenuggets._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wayhaught still aren’t together?! I know, I know. You probably want to throw things at me (and Wynonna) at this point. But I’m sticking to my darned outline. It’s coming. That’s the last bit of Wynonnus Interruptus before the, er, inevitable happens, I promise. The next chapter is a big one. We head to Utah, and there will be some major Nicole/Waverly progress there.
> 
> Some of this chapter was setup for some conflict that will happen further down the line. So hang in there, there will be payoff. :)
> 
> Again, thank you so much for reading and taking the time to leave comments and kudos. I started writing this to get some discipline back into my writing and work through some pent up wanderlust. But I thought I’d chuck it on here too and it’s been a lot of fun sharing it with you guys. 
> 
> And finally, I’m sorry for the wait on this update, this chapter took me a couple of days longer than I intended. My outline led me a little astray and I underestimated the ground I needed to cover. On the plus side (maybe? because it’s very possible I just bored the crap out of you?) it’s basically a double chapter. 
> 
> * It is technically illegal to fish alone in Montana if you are an unmarried woman, under an arcane State law.  
> ** PartyWith exists.  
> *** Thelma and Louise is the best road trip movie ever, right? (Genuine question, hook me up if you have recs)


	4. We are secrets told

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waverly goes a little crazy, Wynonna stages an intervention, Nicole loses her pants, Chrissy takes care of Nicole and lands them both in hot water, and there’s a sweet Salt Lake City sunrise.
> 
> *This one is hella angsty until it isn’t. Hang in there. This is not the one you want to DNF on. Also the writing gets stronger in the second half IMO.

**Day 3-4: Idaho Falls (ID) — Salt Lake City (UT)**  

> “I’m your girl,” she said in the dark. “Your girl. No matter what, I’m always your girl.”
> 
> — Ernest Hemingway, from The Garden of Eden

  
“I’m telling ya Haught, you should see this girl’s Instagram pics, you two would make smokin’ hot babies…”

Waverly loves her sister to bits, but there are definitely times when she’d like to throttle her.

 _This_ is one of those times.

Waverly’s at the wheel of the Mustang and Wynonna’s riding shotgun with her legs up on the dash, the inevitable to-go coffee cup glued to one hand, her phone in the other.

They’re back on the I-15, their attempt to slink quietly out of Idaho via the back roads thwarted by the lack of an alternative route; there’s a big ass mountain range between them and Utah and the interstate is the only way through it.  
  
So Waverly’s doing her best to drive inconspicuously, to not draw the eyes of the law, despite an overwhelming urge to put the pedal to the metal. She needs some sort of outlet because Wynonna will _not_ shut up about this supposedly ‘perfect’ hussy she’s found for Nicole and it’s slowly driving Waverly batshit crazy.

Wynonna twists to face the back, shoving her phone in Nicole’s face. “Dude. Check this out, Brooke’s on the University of Utah ski team.”

_Of course she is._

She’s got to hand it to Wynonna, her asinine app has managed to turn up a girl that on paper should be irresistible to Nicole. A tall, blonde-haired, blue-eyed bombshell who’s apparently Dean’s honors list smart _and_ a top-class athlete.

“Uh-huh, that’s nice Earp.” Nicole’s eyes are closed, her tone disinterested.

“Pfft, that’s it? I hook you up with a drop dead gorgeous girl and score us all invites to the rager of the century in Salt Lake City and it’s like a freaking morgue in here.” Wynonna drums on the back of the seat, like she’s trying to wake them all up. “It’s party time peeps, let’s see some energy.”

Nicole opens one eye. “I’m twerking on the inside,” she deadpans.

Chrissy groans. “Ugh, I’m not sure I can face a party right now Wynonna.” She lifts her head from Nicole’s shoulder. “I’m nursing the mother of all hangovers. I feel like my head’s been invaded by a thousand angry little men with jackhammers.”

Wynonna tuts and reaches inside her leather jacket, pulling out her trusty flask. “I can fix that Nedley junior. You see it’s not a hangover, it’s whiskey flu. And you know the best cure for whiskey flu?” She cackles. “More whiskey.” She splashes a liberal amount into her own coffee cup then passes the flask to Chrissy, who sniffs at it suspiciously before giving a what-do-I-have-to-lose shrug and taking a long, long pull.

 _Oh boy._ It’s not even midday. Such a bad influence, her sister.

“Woah, easy there Chrissy,” Nicole cautions, taking the flask away from the blonde before she empties it. “You just downed enough hair of the dog to make yourself an entire pooch.”

Waverly and Nicole exchange concerned looks in the mirror. It’s gonna be some kind of day if the other two are blitzed before lunch.

“Now as I was saying Haught,” Wynonna says, and Waverly sighs, because from her tone it’s clear she’s returning to her favorite topic. “This girl is the total package…”

///

Somewhere between Pocatello and Arimo Waverly’s silent seething finally descends into a full blown rage spiral.

Because Wynonna’s _still_ gushing about Utah Barbie.

Her sister lets out a dark chuckle as she taps away at her phone. “This chick may look hella sweet and innocent on the outside but she’s sure into some kinky shit—”

Nicole sits forward in her seat abruptly. “Wait, what? How do you know that?”

“Er…”

“Have you been SEXTING with this girl Earp? As me?!”

“Seriously ‘Nonna?” Waverly spits, side-eying her sister. She shouldn’t be surprised at this point, but _really_?

“Well…not exactly, that would be a little outside my sexual repertoire. But I may have been vetting her, uh, experience, to make sure she’s not a dud in the sack—”

“Oh my god.” Chrissy dissolves into a giggling fit. She slaps Nicole’s knee. “This poor girl’s going to think you’re some sort of kinked up jezebel Nicole.”

“Hey, watch it Nedley junior. This chick is into way more freaky shit than me _and_ she’s thirsty as fuck.”

Waverly grits her teeth.

_Perfect! Pretty, smart, athletic and a sex addict? Oh this just keeps getting better and better._

Nicole holds up her bruised right hand, and points at her injured midriff. “Sorry to spoil your ridiculous scheming here Earp but you do realize that even if I wanted to — and I don’t — I can’t _do_ anything with this girl, right? I’m kinda out of action thanks to that asshole last night.”

“Eh, your face is still intact and you’ve got one good hand. I’m sure you can figure it out Haught.” Wynonna waggles her brows. “You can always leave your shirt on, if you want. Some chicks dig that.”

And that does it for Waverly.

She’s fricken’ done listening to her sister casually yammer on about Nicole having sex with some random skank in Salt Lake City like it’s nothing. Because this is _her_ Nicole. The Nicole she was two seconds away from laying claim to last night before Wynonna came barging through that bathroom door, ruining everything. How different would today be if Wynonna had arrived two or ten seconds later? And what if they can never get that moment back? What if it’s lost forever?

The thought is unbearable.

Riding a wave of red-hot rage she cranks the stereo up to max, so loud that Wynonna and everyone else is completely drowned out.

For a blissful thirty seconds there’s nothing but Sheryl Crow belting out _If It Makes You Happy_ , her voice laced with a delicious sort of bitterness, and Waverly sings right along, screeching away at the top of her lungs.

And then, just like that, Sheryl’s gone again.

“Super rude sis,” Wynonna snaps, eyeballing her after muting the stereo. “I’ve still got a whole game-plan to run through with Haughtshot here.”

Waverly growls, a literal growl that she doesn’t bother to cover. “I’m sure if Nicole wants the girl she’ll get the girl Wynonna,” she says, catching the redhead’s eye in the mirror, hoping her double meaning is clear. “So maybe you should focus on your own shitshow of a love life for a change.”

_Oops._

That came out way meaner than she intended, but her sister’s been getting on her last nerve since they left Idaho Falls and something had to give.

Wynonna shoots her a wounded look. “Well _excuse me_ for wanting to look out for my best amigo…and what the fuck babygirl? Who pissed in your cornflakes this morning? You’ve been crabby and playing angry chick music since we left that shitty trailer. If I have to sit through another goddamned P!nk song…Did Champ drunk dial you last night or something?”

Waverly’s hands clench tightly around the wheel and she bites her lip, desperately trying to keep the words at bay as her rage swirls and threatens to spill out.

But it’s too much…

“No you oblivious idiot, I’m crabby because you ruin every—”

The Mustang gives a loud, spluttering cough and the engine suddenly cuts out. _What the?_ She looks down at the fuel gauge. The little orange indicator is well below the E for empty mark and the fuel warning light is flashing at her.

_Oh. Oh shitsticks._

It’s probably for the best, really, given what she was about to blurt out to her sister.

They glide on for a hundred yards in graceful silence before they run out of momentum and she has to pull the car over to the side of the interstate.

“So,” Waverly says in a small voice, sinking back into her seat and closing her eyes. “We’re kinda outta gas.”

Can this day get any worse?

“How is that even possible?” Nicole demands. She leans forward to check the gauge with her own eyes. “Didn’t you fill the tank up in Idaho Falls last night Wy?”

“Er, no, I thought you did Haught.”

Nicole groans. “Right. Communication fail then…and Waves you didn’t, uh, notice the low fuel light?” The redhead’s voice is gentle but it still stings. Because yeah, she should’ve spotted the warning light earlier, it was pretty freaking obvious what with the flashing and all. But she hasn’t exactly been in her right mind this morning.

“Let’s just say I’ve been a little distracted.”

Chrissy waves her phone around. “Damn it, there’s no cell signal here either.”

Shoot. No roadside assistance then.

Waverly sighs. This is on her. “Guys there was a Chevron truck stop only a mile or two back. I’ll walk there and get us enough gas to push onto the next place we can fuel up.”

“I’ll come with you,” Nicole says, and she’s already getting a bag together, grabbing water and her aviators.

Waverly’s surprised by how much she wants to refuse, by how much she wants to make this walk alone. She realizes then that there’s a part of her that’s mad at Nicole, too. Because couldn’t she fight Wynonna a little harder on this Salt Lake City setup? Couldn’t she just say no?

It doesn’t help Waverly’s insecurities that Nicole looks like she dressed to impress today. She’s wearing a black shirt with the top buttons left open, just so, and a pair of beautifully embroidered Diesel jeans. She has more jewelery and a whole lot more eye makeup on than usual, too. The combination makes for a smoldering, dangerous look on the redhead. It’s something different, and it’s sexy as hell.

This Brooke chick is going to lust over Nicole badly. How on earth could she not, looking like this? The thought makes her stomach churn.

They’re out of the car and about to set off when Wynonna calls them back. “Wait a sec…Haught, take this please.”

Her sister holds out the Colt pistol.

Nicole shakes her head, backing away, palms up. “Uh-uh. No way Wy, I’m not touching that thing.”

“Take the damned gun.” Wynonna’s voice is low and menacing. She thrusts the butt of the gun at the redhead again. “We’re out in the fucking boonies here. I’m not letting you escort my sister unarmed. Not after what happened with that jack-hole last night.”

“No Wynonna, I won’t.”

They glower at each other. It’s a weird kind of stand off. But it’s one Waverly can easily resolve.

She whips the gun right out of Wynonna’s hand and tucks it into the waistband of her skirt.

She arches a brow her sister’s way. “Happy?” Wynonna just stands there slack-jawed, blinking at her in surprise. “C’mon Nicole, the sooner we get this done the sooner we can deliver you to your dream girl,” she snipes.

“Waverly, wait—” Nicole says.

But she’s already walking, and she doesn’t look back.

///

“Waves are you sure this truck stop was only a mile back?” Nicole asks, tripping on a pothole as she struggles to keep pace with the brunette. “‘Cos it feels like we’ve already walked at least that far.”

Dammit, Nicole’s fallen even further behind now after that misstep. Who knew somebody with such tiny legs could walk so danged fast?

“Pretty sure,” Waverly says, her voice coming from a long way forward. “But I guess distances can be deceptive at eighty miles per hour.”

They’re marching north along the I-15. The highway here is straight as an arrow, nestled into a valley carved between the deep red-brown ridges of the Indian Rocks State Park. It’s a desolate sort of place and oven hot; a dry heat that parches Nicole’s throat and sears her delicate skin.

She’s too pale for this. The next time she plans a road trip, she thinks, it’s gonna be to somewhere frigid, like the Yukon in January, or Patagonia.

And she’s definitely regretting the black button-down. That’ll teach her for being so fucking prideful. She’s well aware that she dressed up today — that she chose an outfit that screams I’m-just-fine-thank-you-very-much — to compensate for, and mask, the physical frailty she’s feeling.

She lengthens her stride then in attempt to close up, but Waverly seems to sense it and accelerates too.

It’s been like this since they left the Mustang, Waverly fighting to keep some distance between them, refusing to even look her way. Nicole hates it, but she gets it. She knows Waverly doesn’t want to go to this party, and why. And while the younger Earp is usually sweet as sugar, when she gets het up about something, stews on it, and the dam finally bursts, well…look out.

There’s something so beautiful about Waverly Earp when she’s furious, though. Something fierce and free. Nicole wonders how it would be to kiss her when she’s in this mood, to try to tame her. Like quenching a wildfire, maybe?

She shakes her head. _Quit dreaming Haught._

She feels so off kilter right now. The intention in Waverly’s eyes last night was clear. Nicole’s sure she was about to lean in and kiss her, that everything was about to spill out into the open. But then Wynonna barged in and now, somehow, it feels like they’re right back at square one.

They need to talk this through some and if they have to do it at ten yards apart, then so be it.

“Waves can we talk please? I know you’re mad. This party, this girl…”

Up front the brunette’s step falters, and her shoulders tense. Then she comes to such an abrupt halt that Nicole almost walks into her. “Oh, so we’re doing this now? Okay then.” She pivots and pokes a finger at Nicole’s chest. “You could just say no to Wynonna, you know that right? It’s not like you have a problem saying no to me when you want to.”

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

She’s never been able to deny Waverly anything. Unless she’s referring to that aborted kiss last year…

_I would tear down the sky for you if you asked me to Waverly Earp. Don’t you know that by now?_

“Have you met your sister when she’s set on one of her schemes? That’s like asking someone to face down a Mack truck.”

“Wrong answer Nicole,” Waverly says, bitterly. “Try again.”

A car whizzes by, swirling the air around them into a dervish and kicking up red dust in its wake.

“God, what do you want me to say?” Nicole runs an agitated hand through her hair. “I’m sorry Wynonna I don’t want to go to this cool party you’ve got us all invites to because your sister and I have this really weird unsaid thing going on right now and she doesn’t believe me when I say I’m not interested in other girls? Oh, and again, it’s _your sister_.”

Waverly just stares at her, speechless, then, and she’s not sure if it’s a good stare or a bad stare. Did she say too much? Does she have this all wrong?

“Look,” Nicole continues, her voice softer, “after the crazy day we had yesterday the chance to chill, the chance to kickback at a party and meet some locals sounds kind of nice, dontcha think?”

Waverly takes a step back and her frown returns. “ _Meet_ some locals, yeah right Nic.”

“C’mon Waves you know that’s not what I mean. I told you, I’ve got zero interest in that.”

A tanker truck whooshes by next, thunderous up so close. It honks its air-horn at them, a deafening blast, and wraps them in the thick stench of diesel.

The brunette wrinkles her nose. “For someone who’s _not interested in that_ ,” she shouts over the noise of the passing truck, “you sure dressed up pretty today.”

“Waverly that’s not—”

But it’s too late, Waverly’s already storming off up the road again. Worse still, she’s crossing over to the other side of the divided highway.

Nicole breaks into a painful half-jog, giving chase.

She hates how heavily she’s breathing by the time she makes it to the northbound side of the road. Goddamn this injury. “Waves, what the heck? Why are we over here?”

Waverly arches a brow and looks at her like she’s a little slow. “To hitch a lift, silly.”

“Do you really think anyone’s gonna stop for us while you’ve got that big ass gun strapped to your hip?”

“Eh, it’s Idaho, so maybe?”

“Okay, well, just sayin’ but I’m pretty sure it’s illegal to hitch on the interstate.”

Waverly shoots her a _seriously_ look, of the kind she normally only cops from Wynonna. “I’ll keep that in mind future-Officer-Haught.” She rolls her eyes. “Don’t worry I won’t hail down a squad car, I’m not an idiot.”

Maybe it’s because they’re two girls on their own, but they don’t have to wait long at all. The fourth car that comes by pulls over for them.

‘Car’ may be stretching it, though. It’s an ancient Datsun pickup, its red paint peeling, one fender and both wing mirrors secured with duct tape. The cargo bed is jam packed full of plastic barrels that emanate a strange smell, like meat that’s gone off.

Oh fuck. “Waverly, I’ve got a mighty bad feelin’ about this…”

But Waverly’s already walking towards the pickup truck. She casts a rebellious look back over her shoulder. “You wanted to meet some locals Nicole.”

“Not potential serial killers!”

The brunette pats her side. “We’ve gotta gun, remember? We’ll be fine.”

Dammit, Waverly in this mood is impetuous as hell. Nicole follows her reluctantly, hoping they’re not about to a hitch a ride with some John Wayne Gacy or Ted Bundy type.

Waverly taps on the window and the passenger door kicks open abruptly.

The driver’s appearance is not reassuring: male, forties, balding, with a long salt and pepper beard and khaki coveralls. He does a brief double take when he registers the gun tucked into Waverly’s skirt, but seems to give it a pass.

“Where are you girls headin’ then?”

“Hi there…um…we ran out of gas a little ways back,” Waverly squeaks, sounding far less sure of herself than a moment ago. “We’re trying to find the Chevron we passed.”

“I know it, that’s Tom Rickman’s place,” he says in a deep rural burr. “Only another mile or so up the interstate from ‘ere. Hop on in.”

Nicole’s instincts scream hells-to-the-no, but Waverly just shrugs and hefts herself up into the cab. Nicole sighs and slides in next to her on the bench seat.

_Wherever you go, I go, Waverly Earp. Lord help me._

The inside of the pickup is, if anything, even more of a red flag. The floor is at least two feet deep with empty Mountain Dew cans and cigarette butts. Worse, it smells like manure and kerosene with a side of something like bleach.

_Serial killers use bleach._

They take off down the highway, the truck rattling and shaking like a fairground ride. Nicole grips onto the roof handle, hard.

“So you girls traveling all alone?”

Okay, again, that’s exactly the sort of question a _fucking serial killer_ leads with.

“Nope, we’ve got some friends waiting on us back at our car,” Nicole says, trying for her confident, authoritative voice. “It’s been a while now, so I imagine they’re getting antsy.”

He huffs at that.

_Disappointed we’re not strays Mr. Potential Serial Killer?_

“Where are you ladies from then?”

“Purg—”

“Arimo,” Nicole blurts, cutting Waverly off. “We’re from Arimo…we’re locals.”

Serial killers are much less likely to murder locals than out-of-towners. She has an addiction to true crime podcasts, so she knows these things.

He side-eyes them dubiously. “Arimo? Huh. Me too. Funny we’ve never met before, what with the total population being under four hundred and all.”

She’s rewarded with an elbow to the ribs and a what-the-fuck look from Waverly for that little bit of improvisation.

They fall into an awkward, tense silence then, and Nicole wonders at just how long a mile’s drive can seem.

She catches another foul whiff of that rancid-meat smell from the rear of the truck and she can’t help herself, she has to know. “So, um…what’s in all those barrels you’re hauling, if you don’t mind me asking?”

The bearded man’s face tightens and he remains silent for an ominous beat, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.

Finally he says in a cold, flat voice, “entrails.”

_What the fuck?_

Waverly’s terrified gaze darts to meet hers and she moves a hand to Nicole’s thigh, squeezing it hard. Nicole covers her hand with her own, trying for a semblance of reassurance.

“W-what sort of entrails?” Nicole asks, voice taut.

He smiles, a dark smile. His eyes remain set resolutely on the road ahead. “Human entrails.”

_Oh my god, oh my god. I knew it. Holy shit._

She tightens her grip on Waverly’s hand and her heart starts to gallop so fast it feels like it’s going to explode right out of her chest.

Her gaze flicks around the cabin as she does a quick assessment. Her door isn’t locked, could they jump from the car? At this speed their odds of survival aren’t great…should they go for the gun instead? Yes. The gun.

Suddenly the psychopath tips his head back and starts laughing; a deep, rumbling belly laugh. “I’m sorry girls, I’m just messing with you.”

_Wait..what?_

“Jerk move, I know,” he says, still guffawing. “It’s just I couldn’t resist…you both looked like you were gonna shit yourselves.” He points a thumb behind him. “The barrels are full of bait fish. I run a bait and tackle shop out near Marsh Creek. Name’s Joel by the way.”

Nicole slumps back in her seat, feeling like a prize fool. “Oh man, you really had us going for a second there.”

Turns out that aside from having some troll in him, Joel’s a real stand up guy. He helps them get set up with a jerry-can and gas at the Chevron and drives them all the way back to the Mustang, afterward.

Waverly keeps her hand on Nicole’s thigh on the drive back, too, even though she’s not scared anymore.

And that’s something. Yeah, that’s something, at least.

///

After the quiet desolation of the rural highway they’ve spent the past days on the traffic and bustle of downtown Salt Lake City comes as a shock.

Waverly’s glad that Nicole is at the wheel again. Her steady, calm demeanor is better suited to navigating this sort of gridlock than either of the Earps. Also it means Waverly’s free to happily flit between reading her guidebook and drinking in the sights.  
  
She knows this place isn’t much bigger than Calgary, but somehow it feels it. Salt Lake City has a deep, fascinating history and she wishes they could spend the day exploring it rather than heading to the suburbs for this fricken’ party.

Wynonna whistles from the back, long and low. “Fuck me, that thing is over the top. Can we go inside?”

Waverly looks up. They’re crawling past Temple Square, the worldwide headquarters for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and the epicenter of the city. The Temple itself, which is what’s caught Wynonna’s attention, is a blindingly white, gothic building with ornate towers.

“Not unless you can manage an instant conversion to Mormonism,” Waverly says, consulting her guidebook, “and even then you have to be ‘spiritually clean’ to gain admission.”

“Well that’ll be a hard pass for me then,” Wynonna cackles.

Chrissy stirs in the back, closing her sketchbook. “Hey Wynonna, do you know if this party we’re going to is a Mormon party?”

“I dunno Nedley junior. I hadn’t thought about it. Probably? Isn’t everyone in Utah a Mormon?”

“Nah, it’s only like seventy percent.”

“Dude, what?” Nicole cuts in. “You might’ve signed us up to party with a bunch of LDS? You’re aware that Mormons don’t do booze or caffeine, right?”

“What the fuck? I thought that was _Muslims_ not _Mormons_.”

“Nope. Pretty sure Mormons are even stricter than Muslims when it comes that stuff.”

“Well shit. I thought Mormons were the racy, up-for-anything ones. Of course, to be fair, everything I know about Mormonism and Utah comes from watching reruns of Big Love.”

“Really Wy?” Nicole shakes her head, bemused. “They weren’t real Mormons in that, they were some weird offshoot branch, that’s how Bill Paxton had like four wives at once.”

Waverly beams, enjoying this development. “Guys it probably is a Mormon party, it’d explain why it kicks off mid-afternoon on a Tuesday.”

“Yes, yes it would.” Nicole nods, her fingers drumming on the wheel as she eases the car into a different lane. “Get ready for Twister, pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey and fresh lemonade. Damn, I wonder if they’ll try and convert us?

“What sort of jackass religion bans two pillars of the healthy food pyramid anyways?” Wynonna snarks. “That’s dire.”

_One that would never admit her sister, that’s for sure…_

“How about we blow off this party, hey Wy?” Nicole suggests, and Waverly is buoyed by the hopefulness in her tone.

Maybe, just maybe, Nicole means it when she says she’s not interested in meeting Utah Barbie?

“Oh no you don’t Haughtstuff. We’re not bailing now, not when we’re this close to hooking you up. Even if this girl turns out to be a Mormon, she’s still a total smokeshow. We can always BYO, if we have to.” Wynonna shakes her flask. “And besides, deflowering a Mormon boy is high up on my bucket list. One of us, at least, is seeing some action tonight.”

Nicole sighs, defeated. “You have a bucket list for this trip, really Earp?”

Chrissy snorts. “I _so_ don’t want to see that thing.”

///

Nicole jams her hands into her back pockets, surveying the scene laid out before her in wonder.

_So much for Twister and lemonade._

The four of them are standing on the front lawn of a swanky house set high above the equally swanky suburb of Cottonwood Heights. The place is a mansion really, an architecturally designed monster, at least eight thousand square feet, with a killer view of the Salt Lake valley.

It’s lit up like a Christmas tree with twinkling party lights even though it’s not even dark yet, and there’s a deep, bruising bass throbbing from inside, so deep the ground outside is vibrating beneath them.

Wynonna whistles. “Is that dude wearing what I think he’s wearing peeps?”

“Uh-huh,” Chrissy says, as a man dressed as a golden penis walks past hand-in-hand with a girl in a giant taco costume. “If this is a Mormon party I think it’s gone waaay off script.”

A trio of girls wearing nothing but skimpy underwear and green body paint spill out of the entrance next. From their stumbling gait and the red solo cups in their hands they’re clearly trashed.

_Okay then, definitely NOT a booze-free party._

Wynonna slaps her on the back. “Prime those dimples Haught. We’re going in.” She strides purposefully towards the entrance and the rest of them follow.

They only get as far as the foyer, however, where a waif-like girl with a purple-streaked pixie cut and a mess of tattoos is manning a table. She eyes them suspiciously.

“’Sup party person,” Wynonna drawls down at her.

Before the girl can reply a frantic looking blonde in a toga rushes up and grabs her by the arm. “Oh thank god, there you are Rubes. Olivia dropped a tab of acid and climbed the tree out back. Now she says she’s a giraffe and she’s been chowing down on Maple leaves for the last hour.”

“Fuck, again? Find Derek, he knows where the extension ladder is.”

To them the girl says, “Crazy huh? Some people just don’t know how to handle a trip.” She snaps her fingers. “Oh hey, you’re the Canadian chicks, right? From PartyWith?

They nod in a dazed sort of unison. Even Wynonna seems a little overwhelmed by this girl.

“Welcome to SLC bitches! I’m Ruby, and this is my place. Brooke’s my best friend.” She eyes Nicole up like she’s a piece of meat. “And tall, red and leggy here must be Nicole, yes?

“Uh, yeah.” Nicole rubs the back of her neck, feeling super uncomfortable with the way this girl is checking her out.

“Brooke can’t wait to meet you in person.”

Beside her, Waverly gives a little huff. Nicole desperately wants to take her hand, for reassurance. But Waverly’s arms are crossed over her chest angrily, so that ain't happening.

“C’mon.” Ruby gestures inside. “I’ll give you guys a tour and we’ll find Brooke. I think she’s out back playing volleyball with some dudes.” She rolls her eyes. “Jocks, right?”

They move through French doors into a massive, high-ceilinged living space jam-packed with a sea of sweaty, heaving bodies. There’s a DJ set up in the middle of the room pumping out a remix of Daft Punk’s _Get Lucky_ and a long queue for the manned bar over by the windows.

Basically everyone here is in some sort of bizarre costume, Nicole realizes. “We didn’t know this was a themed shindig?”

“Yeah it’s a Seven Deadly Sins thing,” Ruby replies, glancing back at Nicole as she elbows a path through the crowd for them. “No worries though, you don’t need a costume. Just make out you’re Sloth and were too slack to bother, that’s what half of the lazy-ass boys here have done anyway. The rooms are themed too, this room is Lust.”

 _No kidding._ There’s a stripper pole set up in the opposite corner of the space seeing some heavy usage, and _a lot_ of carnal activity going on all around them. It isn’t quite an orgy, but it’s not far off.

“Why do I feel like we took a wrong turn somewhere and ended up at a Dothraki wedding?” Chrissy quips.

It’s kind of freaky, honestly, and she’s not the only one who thinks so because Waverly reaches for her hand then, apprehension in her eyes.

“And they say Generation Z doesn’t know how to party,” Wynonna says in awe. “So are all Mormon parties this banging?”

Ruby laughs, an unfeminine, braying sort of laugh. “Shit babe we’re not LDS. We’re like the anti-LDS.”

“For real? So there are no Mormon boys here at all?”

Wynonna looks like someone just kicked her puppy.

“Oh I see where you’re at.” Ruby waggles her brows lewdly in a way that reminds Nicole very much of Wynonna. “Don’t worry there’s always a couple that go rogue and come to my parties. Look for the boys in starched white button-downs. Can’t miss ‘em.”

They weave their way through a series of heavily peopled rooms until they’re outside again, out into a lush, tropical garden that’s dazzlingly pretty in the pinks and oranges of the fading evening light.

Ruby waves a hand in the direction of the lagoon-style swimming pool as she cuts a path towards the lawn. “This is the Pride area, in case you hadn’t figured.”

Well that explains the abundance of mirrors. And some of the weird-ass costumes out here, including a washed up beauty queen, a dude dressed as a rainbow, and a rowdy crew dressed up as a pride of lions.

“So is this party in honor of anything specific?” Nicole asks.

Ruby steps back just in time to dodge a flying solo cup that someone hurls from the veranda above them. “Nah. My parents do a spa vacation down in Moab every July and we try to make the most of that. You know how it is…” She grins wickedly. “Outta sight, outta mind.”

She can’t imagine pulling a rager like this behind her Dad’s back. But then, she’s boring like that…

“Hey, that reminds me, do you girls have anywhere to crash tonight?”

Nicole shakes her head. “Er no, we kinda haven’t thought that far ahead.”

After the shitshow with the trailer last night they’re edgy about booking anything without seeing it first.

Ruby rummages in her tote bag. She fishes out a set of keys and tosses them at Nicole. “Here…they’re for the pool house.” She points in the direction of a pretty pink weatherboard bungalow across the lawn. “You’re welcome to camp out there tonight. Just make sure you lock up when you’re ready to turn in, otherwise you’ll end up with loads of couples doing the nasty in there with you.”

Wow, Wynonna must have made _quite_ the impression when she was sexting with this Brooke chick, or folks in Utah are just mighty friendly.

“Thank you dude, that’s super nice of you.”

A makeshift volleyball net has been strung up behind the pool house and they find a game in full swing, two teams playing four-on-four, and it looks to be a physical, fiercely fought affair based on the intense focus written on the faces of the participants.

There’s only one girl playing, a tall blonde that Nicole assumes must be the elusive Brooke.

Ruby sticks two fingers into her mouth and cattle whistles. “Yo Brookie, your date’s here.”

_Date? Oh jeez._

Waverly drops Nicole’s hand at the same moment the girl spins their way. Her gaze goes straight to Nicole, and she smiles at her, singling her out, a smile sweet as apple pie.

Behind her Chrissy makes a startled sound. “Yikes, she’s a supermodel.”

So yeah, okay, this girl is a knockout; a cover-girl perfect blonde with a smattering of freckles and azure blue eyes that remind Nicole of the big Texan skies of her childhood.

It’s not clear if she’s ignored the Seven Deadly Sins theme or her take on Lust is to dress in the skimpiest gym shorts ever and a University of Utah tee that’s tied in a knot high at the front, exposing a set of well-defined, tanned abdominal muscles.

Brooke calls a jacked-up guy over to sub in for her, grabs a towel and saunters their way. When she reaches them she extends a hand. “Nicole, hi. I’m so happy you came.”

And dammit, she really looks it too, which just makes her feel even more like a giant fraud.

“Hey there Brooke.” Nicole squeezes the blonde’s hand briefly. “Thanks for the invite.” There’s a steadiness to her voice that doesn’t at all reflect how she’s feeling on the inside.

Because she knows now that Waverly was right: coming here today was a mistake. This girl is dangerous, she could wreck everything. Her looks are of no consequence; she could be Megan Fox for all Nicole cares, she’d still have zero interest. But Waverly doesn’t know that, doesn’t yet understand how stupidly deep these feelings of Nicole’s run.

How could she, when they still haven’t talked properly?

She glances down at Waverly. She wants to send a message with her eyes: _I’m not interested, dammit._ But Waverly’s focus is solely on Brooke, her expression despondent, like she’s already resigned to the inevitable.

She draws in close to Waverly’s side and tries for a reassuring hand at the small of her back. The brunette flinches away so quickly that her fingers are left dangling in space, clutching at thin air.

Her heart aches a little at that. Then again, maybe she deserves it.

Waverly won’t meet her eye and after a beat she bobs her head in that way she does when she’s reached a decision. “I’m gonna go mingle now guys, ‘kay? Bye.”

Wynonna frowns as Waverly plunges abruptly into the crowd. “What the fuck babygirl, rude much?”

“Wait Waverly…” Nicole calls after her, making to follow.

Wynonna seizes her shoulder, holds her back. “Let her go Haught. She’s been in a weird mood all day. Trust me, it’s best to let her dance it off when she gets like this. I’ll check in with her later, see what gives.”

But Nicole knows exactly what gives. And she very much doubts dancing will cure it.

Brooke and Ruby are standing by, watching their little scene play out with obvious confusion.

Nicole’s torn between the doing the polite thing and sticking it out with them, and doing what her gut is telling her, which is to chase after Waverly.

Chrissy beats her to it. “I’ll go after Waves, make sure she’s okay.”

Nicole catches Chrissy’s wrist as she passes by and they share a long, meaningful look. “Take care of her.”

God knows what could happen to her at a party like this, when she’s in this frame of mind.

“I’ve got her Nicole. Don’t worry.”

And so she lets Waverly go.

Another mistake. So many, many mistakes.

///

Everything’s red and black and that suits Waverly just fine.

She’s found her way to the basement, to a room marked Wrath.

There are no windows down here so it’s already dark as night. Red strobe lighting flashes every few seconds, the only source of illumination, cutting through the pitch black. It’s unsettling, but she figures that’s the point.

This place has attracted a very specific crowd: mostly boys, mostly metal-heads or punk rock types, looking to thrash it out. The music is oppressively loud, and it’s the kind of music that feels like it should be injected; a solid wall of noise with no spaces, no room to breathe.

It’s Wynonna-music, and that would normally be Waverly’s definition of hell, but right now she’s feeling anything but normal. She just wants to lose herself in something, anything. To not have to think about Nicole and that perfect ten blonde outside.

She takes a long pull from the bottle of Smirnoff she picked up on the way through. She hates vodka, it tastes like gasoline. But it’s always gone straight to her head, which is exactly what she craves in this moment. Obliteration.

“Waverly.”

Someone’s calling her name and for a moment her heart soars, thinking it’s Nicole, come to find her. When the lights flash red next, though, it’s Chrissy illuminated beside her, concern in her eyes.

“What the heck are you doing in this rank hole Waves? It reeks of boy sweat and weed and the music is vile.”

Waverly crosses her arms, hugging the bottle of vodka close to her chest. “I like it down here.”

“Uh-uh, no you don’t. C’mon.” Her best friend yanks her by the arm and hauls her towards the exit.

They wind up in the kitchen, which, no surprise, is designated as Gluttony. It’s quiet in here and blindingly bright after the darkness of the basement.

Chrissy busies herself assembling a plate of finger sandwiches, egg rolls and loaded potato skins. When she’s done she hands the plate to Waverly. “Here, eat this. If you’re gonna get blitzed, for god’s sake at least don’t do it on an empty stomach.”

That’s rich coming from the girl who downed a flask of whiskey before noon today but Chrissy’s kinda scary in this mood so Waverly tries an egg roll to appease her.

“Good.” Chrissy moves a hand to her hip and shoots her a disapproving look. “Now…are you out of your damned mind Waverly Earp?”

“Huh?”

“Doing a runner and leaving your girl in the clutches of that smokeshow? What gives? Since when are you a quitter?”

Waverly sinks down onto a kitchen stool and rubs at her temples. “I couldn’t handle it Chrissy, I couldn’t be there…I can’t compete with _that_. And she’s not my girl, she doesn’t belong to me.”

_Not yet anyway. Maybe not ever._

She hadn’t even been able to look at Nicole back there. The thought of her wanting Brooke, on any level, it had made her heartsick.

“That’s bullshit and you know it. She’s crazy about you. But Nicole’s attractive, if you keep leaving the door wide open for other girls they’re gonna keep waltzing right through it.”

“She could make the first move. Why does it always have to be up to me?”

Chrissy sighs, an exasperated sigh. “Because you just got out of a relationship with a boy five minutes ago ding-a-ling, and she’s Nicole Haught, she’s all patient and careful. She’s probably waiting for you to work your sexuality out or something, to come to her.”

That does kinda make sense, actually.

“Just talk to her, okay?” Chrissy urges, her gaze sympathetic. “In my experience there are only two reasons why people don’t talk about their shit: either it doesn’t mean anything to them, or it means _everything_. I think we both know which one it is here.”

Waverly clenches her fists, feeling galvanized.

Chrissy’s right. No more running, no more sulking. It’s time to find Nicole and finish what they almost started last night.

///

“Let me introduce you to Salt Lake City’s finest cocktail. We call it the Prophet.”

Nicole inspects the green-blue drink in front of her dubiously. It looks radioactive. “Do I wanna know what’s in this thing?”

Brooke bites her lip, smiles and shakes her head. “Nope. But it’ll knock your socks off, I promise.”

Dusk has almost given way to nightfall now and they’re at the poolside bar, chatting. The fairy lights strung up across the yard twinkle brightly, a kaleidoscope of colors, coming into their own as darkness descends.

Wynonna and Ruby are over by the pool with a group of beefcakes, watching over the two of them from afar, like two overly keen matchmakers who really want their meddling to take. Two wasted, rowdy matchmakers…

The universe being cruel, Brooke, of course, is charming and sweet. They’re both powderhounds with a near religious passion for snowboarding so the conversation flows easily. But Nicole is only ever half there, her mind is constantly drawn back to Waverly; wondering where she is, who she’s with, if she’s okay.

“You seem kind of preoccupied Nicole.” Brooke picks at the label of her Coors Lite, her eyes downcast.

And she’s not being subtle about it, either, apparently.

“I’m sorry.” She can’t exactly unload her Waverly drama onto this girl, so instead she opts for deflection. “Why are you single Brooke? I mean…you’re really pretty, and you’re great to talk to…”

Oh crap. Now it sounds like she’s coming onto her.

Brooke lifts her gaze back up to meet Nicole’s. Nicole’s struck again by the mesmerizing blue of her eyes. “I only came out six month ago, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yeah…I always knew, but it’s tough growing up in Utah gay. At my high school something like seventy percent of the kids were LDS. And those guys aren’t real big on us. Some of them are okay, but the church teaches them that it’s something that shouldn’t be acted on. Marriage should only be between a man and a woman and all that shit. My parents are Catholic, too, so it wasn’t much better at home.”

“That sounds terrible. I’m so sorry.” She rests a comforting hand atop Brooke’s.

Brooke smiles wanly. “It’s better now, at college, I mean. I’m slowly finding my people. But I still haven’t found my person. I haven’t even…you know…”

Nicole blinks. _Oh. Oh wow._ “You haven’t been a with a girl yet?”

Brooke nods shyly.

“Hence the hookup app…”

“Yeah, in my defense that was kind of Ruby’s idea.” Mischief sparkles in Brooke’s eyes. “You know, you’re not at all what I expected. From your texts I thought you’d be more of a player.”

Nicole chokes mid-sip on her drink. _Goddamn you Earp_.

“Well you’re not exactly the kinky sex fiend you made yourself out to be either.”

This girl’s a virgin after all. How on earth did she fool Wynonna?

Brooke tugs at her t-shirt, looking abashed. “Er, actually I have a confession to make…that was Ruby you were texting with.”

_Wait…what?_

“Oh my god dude. I wasn’t the one doing the texting on my end either. I didn’t even create my own profile. Our dumbass, straight BFFs were cat-fishing each other!”

“Seriously?” Brooke chuckles, “well that’ll teach ‘em for being such pushy fuckers.”

They exchange amused grins.  
  
Man, she’s never going to let Wynonna live this one down.

Scanning the crowd for her best friend, her gaze catches on two fursuiters over by the hot-tub, a pink fox and a taller grey furry that appears to be a cross between a rat and a raccoon. They’re staring fixedly at Brooke and Nicole for some reason.

_Well that’s super creepy._

The taller one seems real agitated, it keeps jumping around and scratching itself like it’s got a bad case of mange. There’s something familiar about the way the little fox holds itself too…

She shakes it off, focusing her attention back onto Brooke.

“You should wait for someone special, wait until you’re in love. Don’t rush it.”

The blonde toys with her drink. “Did you?”

Nicole thinks back to her first time with Beth, a stolen moment on a group ski trip to Banff. Things with Beth had been sweet but undemanding. It certainly wasn’t love, as much she may have tried to convince herself to the contrary at the time.

She thinks of Waverly and takes a long gulp of her cocktail. It’s bitter on her tongue. “No. But I really wish I had.”

Brooke’s gaze turns dreamy and drops to Nicole’s lips. “You’re kind of adorable Nicole Haught.” And then she’s extending a hand to Nicole’s knee and _oh shit_ , this is about to go sideways fast.

She scrapes her stool backwards, dodging Brooke’s touch.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do that.”

Brooke looks hurt and confused. Then understanding dawns in her eyes and she snaps her fingers. “Waverly right? The feisty brunette from earlier? You’re into her, aren’t you?”

_Damn, is it really this obvious to the entire world bar Wynonna?_

“Yeah, yeah I am.” It’s the first time she’s acknowledged it to anyone out loud, she realizes, and it feels good.

They sit in awkward silence for a moment before Brooke stands up, making to leave. “Well, it was nice meeting you. Good luck getting your girl. She’s lucky.” She bends over Nicole and places a chaste peck to her cheek that somehow manages to catch the corner of her mouth. “Maybe in another lifetime, huh?”

She nods and smiles a goodbye even though she’s sure that in a hundred lifetimes, in any version of reality, she’d find Waverly and she’d choose Waverly.

Always.

///

“For the record Waves, I said you should _talk_ to your girl, not _stalk_ her.”

“Hush Chrissy, not so loud. They might hear us.”

Waverly’s well aware that this isn’t one of her finer moments. When she’d set out on this mission she’d fully intended to just walk straight up to Nicole when she found her. To steal her away from that blonde hussy.

But then she’d actually seen them, seen Nicole and Brooke sitting with their knees pressed together at the poolside bar, smiling at each other radiantly under the romantic glow of the fairy lights, and her reptilian brain had kicked in.

So here they are instead, spying on them from behind the hot-tub in fursuits Waverly bargained off of a couple of drunk boys for a bottle of Wild Turkey and some quick cash.

“I think we’ve been fleeced Waves,” Chrissy says, her voice sounding muffled through the costume. “These suits weren’t worth fifty bucks. Shit this thing isn’t even polyester.” She bends over to tug at the tag attached to one of her feet. “Yep, rayon. No wonder I’m itchy as fuck.”

“Shh Chrissy, seriously! Keep your voice down.”

She adjusts the head of her fox costume. It’s really hard to see out of this thing, the eye holes are small and she has no peripheral vision.

At the bar the conversation between Nicole and the floozy appears to have taken an intense turn. She wishes she could hear what they’re saying properly. From this distance she can only pickup snatches of words, but never full sentences. It’s driving her crazy.

“Why do I have to be the ugly furry?” Chrissy starts up again, sounding sulkier by the minute. “What even is this thing anyway? A dog? A raccoon? A rat? How am I meant to meet a cute boy dressed like this, huh?”

_Oh for Christ’s sake._

“I’m sure you’d be a real catch for that Dalmatian fursuiter over by the cabana.”

“Ew, gross. He already tried to rub on me. I’m at least holding out for a Husky.”

Waverly starts to giggle but it’s cut short when over at the bar Nicole reaches a hand out to cover Brooke’s.

_Fudgenuggets._

“Did you see that?” Waverly hisses.

“Oh calm down Earp. It looks like she’s just comforting her to me.”

A strange whirring sound starts up next to her.

“What’s that noise?”

“Jackpot,” Chrissy exults in delight, “I found a button on one of my paws that activates a fan in my nuzzle. What a freaking relief. Who knew these suits could be so crazy hot?”

They didn’t make these things with Utah’s summer in mind, that’s for sure. She’s sweating under her fox suit too. She searches the back of her paws but can’t find a similar button, unfortunately. Maybe it’s on the feet?

Nicole’s distinctive laugh, high and musical, rings out.

Waverly looks up so fast her fox head almost comes detached. _Crap._

Whatever the two of them are talking about over there it must be a hoot because they’re laughing really hard. All she catches is ‘cat-fishing’. Hmm.

Beside her Chrissy starts to jiggle around on her feet. “Do you think it’s possible the last occupants of these suits had fleas? ‘Cos I’m getting mad itchy here.”

“Don’t worry, it’s probably just the stitching. Mine’s itchy too.”

But Chrissy’s hopping about just gets worse and she starts scratching all over, like she really does have an outbreak of fleas.

“Dammit, I’ve gotta get out of this suit soon Waves. I’m legit breaking out into hives over here.”

Nicole looks their way then. Looks right at them and squints suspiciously.

_Holy shit!_

“Quit it with the jiggling for a sec Chrissy,” Waverly hisses, “you’re blowing our cover.”

Chrissy freezes. “Oh crap. I think we’ve been made.”

But no. After a long moment Nicole shakes her head and diverts her attention back to the blonde.

Brooke’s features soften then. Uh-oh. Waverly knows that look, knows what’s coming next.

She feels fire, everywhere, and wants to run. She can’t do this again, can’t stand by and watch yet another girl lay claim to Nicole Haught’s heart.

Brooke’s attempt to lean in for the kiss comes to nothing though, as Nicole lunges backwards in an almost comical fashion, dodging the blonde’s hand.

A surge of relief courses through Waverly.

Beside her, Chrissy punches the air with a paw. “Attagirl Nicole.” She turns her furry grey head Waverly’s way. “See? What did I tell you? She’s _your_ girl Waverly.”

It’s not over though. This hussy isn’t giving up easy. She stands up and leans over Nicole.

Waverly’s head and heart start up a bloody cage fight, then. Her heart tells her to hold her ground, to have faith in Nicole. But her head is telling her to get the hell out of there before she sees something she can never unsee.

It turns out she’s not so brave after all, because her head wins. She spins on her heel and bolts from the pool area, her tail bouncing as she runs. Chrissy calls after her, but she doesn’t turn back.

Sometimes it’s just better not to know.

///

Nicole’s exhausted. She’s scoured just about every square inch of this massive house looking for Waverly.

She’s seen a lot of weird shit in the process. An idiot who snorted tequila up his nose and almost died; a bunch of girls wrestling naked in a kiddie pool full of green-colored pudding; and a girl dressed as the devil who fell down the stairs but somehow turned it into a single handed cartwheel, beer in hand.

And, oh yeah, a _lot_ of people fucking.

The mental image of Waverly holed up somewhere having drunken, empty sex with some boy — or girl — haunts her, drives her on. Her stomach clenches every time she opens a new door, prepared for the worst.

She’s on the second floor now, which has mostly been bedrooms, the most nerve-wracking doors of all.

This is the last one, and it opens out onto a balcony of sorts.

“There you are Haughtdamn,” a familiar voice drawls. “I’ve been wondering where you got to.”

_Not the Earp I was looking for…_

Wynonna’s out here on the balcony doing her lone wolf thing, a bottle of whiskey in hand, looking like a hot mess.

“What the hell happened to your hair Earp?”

Wynonna combs her fingers through her mussed up dark tresses. She smiles a cat that got the canary smile. “I found a Mormon boy to corrupt. Correction, two Mormon boys to corrupt…”

“Ew. Spare me the details of your sordid threesome thanks Wy.”

Wynonna shrugs. “Your loss, but let’s just say I did my good deed for the day.” She winks. “Twice over.”

_Oh God._

“Have you see Waverly? I’ve been lookin’ everywhere for her.”

Wynonna’s brows knit together, the way they do when she’s trying to think through a thick haze of alcohol. “Not since she ran away from the pool in that freaky fox outfit of hers, no. Never figured babygirl would get into the furry scene, but whatever floats her boat.”

_What?!_

“She isn’t by any chance dressed as a _pink_ fox is she?” Nicole asks through gritted teeth.

“Why yes she is Haught. Nedley junior is dressed as a rat too, of all things. She came over and hung out with us after Waves did the bolt.”

Huh, so it was Waverly and Chrissy gawking at her and Brooke earlier.

She should probably be mad at Waverly for spying on her like that, but instead she finds it oddly endearing.

It adds to the urgency of finding her, though. It’s possible she misconstrued something that happened between the two of them.

“Well, I should keep looking…” She turns to leave, but Wynonna catches the back of her shirt and holds her in place.

“Uh-uh. Don’t think you’re getting away that easy Haught. It’s time for some real talk.”

Well this ain’t good. Her best friend is using her I’m-staging-an-intervention voice, which never bodes well.

Wynonna pats a spot on the railing next to her. Nicole gives a little huff but complies.

“So…I see you ditched the hot chick I found you. I’d say I was disappointed, but I kind of expected it after last night.”

_Huh?_

“I know I’ve been a pain in the ass about getting you laid Nicole,” Wynonna continues, and her voice has that rare softness to it. “I just wanted you to have some fun. You were such a workaholic nerd at university this year and Shae, well, I could tell she made you miserable.”

Wynonna takes a long slug of whiskey straight from the bottle.

“But I get it now ya know, why you resisted so hard? I’ve been blind this whole time, haven’t I?”  
  
_Well snap. Maybe Wynonna’s finally worked it out…_

“I mean it makes total sense. You’re a jock. Cheerleaders would be your thing. And you two have known each other since forever.”

Nicole’s pulse spikes and she tugs at the collar of her shirt with nervous fingers.

_Holy crap, she has worked it out. But she seems strangely calm about it? Almost too calm…_

“Everything finally clicked for me last night at that bar in Bumfuck, Idaho.”

_Dammit Waves, I knew that dance was too much._

Wynonna slides off the railing and turns to Nicole. She reaches for her shoulder and scans her face intently, expression solemn.

“I can’t stand by and watch you get hurt though Nicole.” She squeezes her shoulder. “It’s never gonna happen dude. Don’t get me wrong, if there was even the tiniest bit of hope for you I’d ship it. But Chrissy Nedley’s straight. As straight as they come.”

_Chrissy. What the hell? Oh, Wynonna, no._

She bursts out laughing, she can’t help it.

Wynonna glares at her. “What the fuck is so funny?”

Nicole tries to regain her composure. It takes a while. “I’m so NOT into Chrissy Nedley, Wy,” she says at last. “Really, really, not. She’s like a little sister to me. But thanks for the concern. It’s sweet.”

Wynonna Earp doesn’t take well to being called sweet. She glowers. And then she looks perplexed. “Huh, I could have sworn…I know you Nicole, you’re hung up on someone right now…but if it’s not Chrissy…”

Wynonna’s eyes widen. Then she takes another long, long slug of whiskey, like she’s trying to build up courage. She clutches at the railing.

“It’s not me is it?” she asks in a small voice. “I mean it’s okay if it is, we can deal with it. I can…I-I’ve never been with a…but I could try… _for you_. But I don’t do…feelings, ya know?”

Nicole bites her lip, tries not to laugh again. Honestly, she’s touched by Wynonna’s rambling, her nervousness; her willingness to even contemplate going there with her.

She covers Wynonna’s hand on the railing with her own, linking their fingers together. “Relax Earp, it’s not you,” she says softly. She grins and goes in for a shoulder bump, lightening the mood. “You’re totally not my type you idiot.”

Wynonna exhales in relief. Then she arches an offended brow. “What? Have you seen me? I’m everybody’s type.”

Nicole smiles back fondly. “You are _somebody’s_ type Wynonna, you do know that right?”

It worries her, the degree to which her best friend keeps her heart under lock and key.

But, true to form, Wynonna chooses to ignore that comment.

“So if it’s not me, and it’s not Chrissy…what’s the deal Haught?”

“It’s nothing, just let it go dude.” There’s a note of warning in her voice.

“Oh no. We don’t do secrets Nicole, remember? That’s not how we roll.”

It’s true. Their friendship has been long forged on a deep, mutual trust. They’ve always had each other’s backs, no matter what, and that’s sometimes required painful honesty. Except that Nicole — by keeping her love for her little sister from Wynonna — has been breaching that trust for years.

She blows out a breath, her gaze sweeping out over the heaving crowd beneath them, scanning it for a certain pink fox. “Just give me some time okay? I’m still working it out.”

_Give me some time to work out if there’s anything to tell before I have to lob that grenade._

Wynonna surveys her with troubled eyes. “I can do that. But if you need to…gah…talk, I’m here, alright?”

She knows how much that offer costs Wynonna, how much this entire chat has cost her. Nicole loves her for making the attempt, for being there for her.

“Thanks Earp.”

“Good talk Haught.” Wynonna upends her now empty whiskey bottle. “I’m gonna need another drink, stat, after that though.”

///

“Sweet Jesus, what the hell happened to you Nicole?”

Nicole opens her eyes. Her vision swims. She makes out a blurry form standing over her. Chrissy. At least she _thinks_ so.

“Chrissy, hi.” Shit, is that her voice? It sounds weird. Distant.

“How much have you had to drink girl? And where are your pants?”

Nicole looks down. Crap. She’s lying bare legged on the floor of the rumpus room, her back propped against the leg of a pool table.

“I, uh, lost them in a game of flip, sip, or strip.”

Her memory comes flooding back then. After her talk with Wynonna she’d kept searching for Waverly but had come up empty again. She’d ended up here in Sloth, playing party games with a giant donut and a boy covered in toilet rolls claiming to be the eighth deadly sin — not replacing the roll.

“Huh, must have been some game. And then what, you blacked out?”

Nicole rubs at her temples. God, she’s sleepy. “I guess so. It’s strange ‘cos I didn’t drink that much. Just a couple of shots of peppermint schnapps. And I ate like a _lot_ to compensate. A whole tray of brownies.”

Damn those brownies had been good too. One hadn’t been enough. The more of them she’d had the more ravenous she’d become.

Chrissy tips back her head and laughs throatily. “A whole tray? Oh Nicole Haught. So sweet, so naive. You probably ate _pot_ brownies you idiot. No wonder you’re sleepy. Let me guess, you’re feeling real mellow and you’ve still got the munchies, right?”

“Uh, now that you mention it…”

Well shit. Just her luck to accidentally imbibe narcotics and have someone steal her jeans.

“Have you seen Waverly?”

The blonde frowns and looks irritated. “Not since she bailed on me during the fursuiter fiasco…oops I’m probably not supposed to mention that. Anyhoo…”

“Oh I know _all_ about the fox and the rat business Chrissy,” Nicole says tipsily.

“You do, huh? Well, trust me, that was not my idea. Waves has gone a little cray cray tonight.” Chrissy pulls Nicole to her feet. “C’mon. It’s late Haught, how ‘bout I get you to the pool house and we hole up there for the rest of the night? Waverly will wash up there eventually.”

“That…is a good plan,” she says in that strange, high voice she doesn’t much recognize. “Let’s skip-a-doodle out of here.”

Chrissy holds her by the waist to keep her steady and guides her patiently through a throng of people. Nobody gives Nicole’s pantless state a second glance. It’s just that sort of party.

It’s a relief to make it outside, where it’s quieter and cooler. Nicole fumbles clumsily with the keys when they get to the pool house, and Chrissy has to take them from her and open the lock herself.

The inside is compact: just one bedroom, a living space with a TV, games console and foldout sofa, a kitchenette, and a bathroom. It’s less lavishly furnished than the main building, but it’s still plush by any standard Nicole knows.

She settles on the sofa, splaying her long legs across it, while Chrissy checks out the kitchenette.

“Chrissy?”

“Mmm?” The blonde pulls out a bottle of something that looks like champagne from the fridge.

_Guess she’s not done drinking for the night then…_

“Is Waverly pissed at me? Did she misinterpret something between Brooke and I earlier? Because nothing happened…”

Chrissy joins her on the couch, lifting Nicole’s bare legs to make space before settling with them in her lap. She passes Nicole a bottle of water.

“I know that. Waves just flipped out when that hottie leaned in and pecked you. Except she bolted before the actual peck…”

“Oh.”

_Talk about choosing the worst possible moment to do a runner._

“Uh-huh. I don’t know what it is about you Nicole Haught, but you have a real knack for addling that big brain of hers. I wish y’all would just get together already. The constant drama is giving me a migraine.”

Nicole chokes on her water. “You do?”

Exactly how much has Waverly told Chrissy about the two of them? She seems to be a heck of a lot more in the know than her own best friend, that’s for sure.

Chrissy pats her leg. “I do. Y’all are both such idiots. If Perry had even once looked at me the way you look at Waverly, or Waverly looks at you…” Chrissy gets a dreamy, faraway expression in her eyes. “Don’t fuck it up please. Talk to her, tell her how you feel. There’s such a thing as being too patient, you know?”

She sighs. “Yeah. I want her to be sure it’s what _she_ wants, is all. Waverly has spent her whole life tailoring who she is to the people she’s with. I don’t want her to do that with me.”

To Nicole it feels like Waverly sometimes gets lost, lost in other people’s needs and other people’s dreams. It’s important to her that Waverly chooses this, chooses them. That it isn’t foisted on her.

“She’s not confused Nicole, trust me.” Chrissy takes a gulp of champagne. “Just fight for her. She needs you to.”

“I know. I will. Thanks dude.”

Chrissy picks up two Playstation controllers and hands one to Nicole.

“Ready to get your ass handed to you Haught?”

“Bring it, Nedley.”

///

Who knew it was possible to be lonely at a party?

Yet Waverly is, a bone deep loneliness that won’t go away. She’s danced with scores of people; she’s had three boys try and kiss her — a good hit rate given she was a fox from the neck down until an hour ago — but she’s been numb and unreceptive to it all.

Will it always be like this? Has Nicole ruined her without even kissing her?

She feels stupid and faithless for running now. Because chances are if Nicole rejected that hussy once, she’d do it again a minute later.

She doesn’t understand these feelings; this fear, this fragility. All Nicole has to do is smile halfways at another girl and she’s set on fire.

It’s never been like this before. Champ would look at other girls, hell he’d fricken’ sleep with other girls, and it would make her feel defective and not enough, but not this. Champ could hurt her pride, but not her heart. Only Nicole can do that.

When the clock hits two in the morning she decides it’s time to quit running and go face her demons. If nothing else, she’s close to passing out on her feet.

The pool house door is unlocked when she arrives. Which means Nicole’s either here, or has been here, given she’s the one with the keys. Waverly’s pulse quickens at the thought of seeing her again.

It’s dark inside, she can barely see. There’s only one source of dim light and it’s coming from around the corner. She stumbles towards it.

She’s entirely unprepared for what she finds next…

If somebody had asked her to paint her worst nightmare right at that minute, this might be it.

Because lying there prone on the sofa asleep is Nicole, dressed only in her shirt and panties, Chrissy splayed on top of her, head resting on Nicole’s chest, one hand tucked possessively under Nicole’s shirt, the other threaded in her hair.

There’s an empty bottle of champagne on the floor beside them, and Lana Del Rey is softly droning her mournful dream pop from a stereo by the TV.

Waverly stands frozen for a long moment; blinking, stunned, in the grip of denial.

_This is surreal. It doesn’t make any sense._

Then her throat tightens and her stomach turns to cement. It doesn’t matter how long she stands here waiting for this scene to dissolve, to somehow undo itself. It won’t. The truth is clear: Nicole Haught has joined the Champ Hardy club — she’s gone and screwed one of Waverly’s best friends.

The worst thing is how fucking beautiful the pair of them look all wrapped up in each other. Like a piece of art. Like they belong together.

Waverly expected raw jealousy to feel sharp. But it’s the opposite. It’s a dull, jagged blade to her gut; a twisting, slow-burning ache that only builds in intensity as every second she stands here passes.

Nobody ever warns you how much it can hurt to lose a person who was never yours to begin with.

The bottle of vodka she’s holding slips from her fingers and smashes into a thousand tiny pieces at her feet.

It may as well be her heart.

///

Nicole jolts awake to the sound of glass shattering.

For a moment she’s worried that they’re being burgled, or that some drunken idiot has gone through one of the pool house windows.

Then her eyes land on Waverly, standing across from her, broken glass at her feet.

_Waverly. Finally._

She smiles at the brunette. A sleepy, sweet smile full of relief.

But Waverly doesn’t smile back.

Something’s wrong because she’s _never_ looked at Nicole like this before. There is venom in her eyes and the pulse in her clenched jaw throbs visibly.

She doesn’t resemble the Waverly she knows so much as an inferno, a tempest, something with claws.

Maybe this isn’t real, maybe she’s still dreaming…

And then, horrified, Nicole rouses enough to register the warmth of Chrissy’s body pressed against her own and the feel of Chrissy’s hand under her shirt, her fingers splayed across the bare skin of her stomach.

They must’ve passed out after their Playstation marathon — Nicole too exhausted to move, Chrissy too intoxicated. Somehow, in their sleep, their bodies have tangled themselves together into this.

Chrissy snorts then and stirs a little, nuzzling into Nicole’s neck affectionately, making things a hundred times worse.

_This is really bad._

The fog of sleep finally lifts and she kicks into action. She slides herself smoothly out from underneath the tangle of Chrissy’s long limbs.

“Waverly—”

The brunette spins on her heel and flies from the room.

Nicole gives chase, but it’s only a brief chase. Waverly storms to the bathroom and slams the door angrily in her face. A second later the lock clicks in place.

She pounds on the door. “Waverly, come on—”

“Go away,” Waverly sobs, her voice strangled.

Nicole hugs the door, tries to talk through it. “It’s not what it looks like. Let me explain, please—”

“You don’t have any fricken’ pants on Nicole. I don’t think there’s much to explain. You got drunk and fucked my best friend.”

“Dammit Waverly, that’s not what happened at all. Open this door, now.”

If she could just get in there, if Waverly could see her eyes, she’d see that Nicole’s telling the truth.

She pounds on the door again, this time adding a shoulder slam at the end for good measure. That just hurts like fuck and gets her nowhere.

“I should have known something was off after the way the two of you were acting in that bar in Idaho last night.”

 _Really?!_ What is it with the Earp sisters and their crazy fixation with Nicole and Chrissy hooking up?

“Don’t be ridiculous. Look…I lost my pants in a game of flip, sip or strip, okay? And then I ate a tray of pot brownies and passed out. Chrissy found me and rescued me, she brought me back here, and we played video games all night. We fell asleep on the sofa together. That’s it! I swear.”

Silence.

“And nothing happened with Brooke either, by the way. I know you were spying on me, and I don’t care. You bailed just before she left. She pecked me on the damned cheek.”

Silence.

Nicole slides down the door, physically and emotionally spent. “Waverly, please…”

Finally, when she’s almost given up hope, she hears the padding of footsteps and a soft click.

_Thank god._

Nicole stands, unsteady on her feet now, and pushes the door wide open. Waverly is slumped on the ground, her back against the side of the bathtub. She’s a mess; a beautiful mess, but still a mess. Her hair is wild and her mascara is in ruins.

Any anger she’s feeling at the injustice of the situation evaporates in that moment. Because it’s clear that Waverly’s hurting badly and that’s just something she cannot abide.

She crouches down before her, takes her wrist, rubs feather-light circles. She thumbs away some runaway mascara with her other hand. “Look at me please.”

At long last, for what feels like the first time all day, Waverly looks at her. _Really_ looks at her.

And then she crumples.

She falls forwards, turns her face into Nicole’s chest and sobs.

“Oh god Nicole. I believe you. I’m so sorry,” Waverly sniffles, her voice muffled by fabric. “I-I don’t know what’s happening to me.” She twists her fingers in Nicole’s shirt. “I’ve been a mess all day. I feel like I’ve lost my mind or something…”

Nicole presses her lips to the top of Waverly’s hair. “Shh, it’s okay Waves. I’ve got you.” She rubs her hands up and down Waverly’s arms, soothing her. “Don’t be sorry. This is my fault. You were right. We should never have come here today.”

She so wishes she could go back in time and put her foot down with Wynonna; never meet Brooke, never end up passed out half-naked on a sofa with Chrissy.

“S’okay,” Waverly sighs. She slumps back against the bathtub, her hazel eyes still wet. “But honestly, this is on me. I-I’m so scared…and I think I keep looking for things that aren’t there, for ways to sabotage this thing between us, because I’m so scared.”

“Well hey, I understand. Being attracted to another girl…it’s scary for some people. It’s not always easy. It’s okay to not be sure. And Waverly I would never ask you to be someone you’re not. So you take your time—”

Waverly places a finger to Nicole’s lips, silencing her.

“No silly. I’m not scared of being gay, or bi, or whatever. I’ve been living with that idea for a while now, trust me. It’s you that scares me Nicole…”

_Huh?_

“I scare you?”

“You do, so much.” Waverly takes Nicole’s hand and places it over her chest. “You make my heart do this.” Nicole feels it then, under her fingertips: the violence, the wildness of it. “Only you can do that. And if it’s like this now, before we’ve even…you know. What will it be like after…if you hurt me, or leave me? So I’ve been protecting myself, I think, from that.”

Waverly’s lost so much, so many people, in her short life. It’s no surprise that her heart would be fragile, that she’d be careful with it.

She realizes then that she’s been getting this all wrong — Waverly hasn’t needed patience from her, she’s needed affirmation.

“Don’t be afraid.” Nicole cups Waverly’s face carefully between her hands and locks gazes with her. “I’m not going anywhere, and I promise I won’t hurt you. Because you mean everything to me Waverly Earp. It’s always been you, only you. All you ever had to do was look at me and I belonged to you.”

Waverly blinks at her slowly, soft wonder in her eyes. Something in her seems to finally still, to calm, at last.

“Then why didn’t you say anything Nicole?” Waverly asks, and there’s a little crack in her voice. “Last year, after that dance…it was like it never happened. I wanted to talk about it but you avoided me. I thought you didn’t want me.”

Nicole blows out a breath and shakes her head at her own idiocy.

“I’m so, so sorry.” She runs the back of her fingers lightly down Waverly’s jaw. “I thought you regretted it. That maybe you were experimenting. And you were with Champ and I was with Beth, the timing was all wrong. So I let it go, I didn’t want to push you. But we should have talked, and I should have waited. Shae was a mistake.”

Waverly nods, like that’s enough for her.

It shouldn’t be, though.

Nicole rises to her feet and holds out her hand. “How ‘bout we have a do over?” Waverly looks at her in confusion. “A do over of that dance?”

Waverly beams her widest smile and it’s like sunshine on the first, warm spring day after a long, cold winter.

But then something occurs to her…

“Hold that thought.” Nicole moves to the bathroom door, snips the lock in place. “Betya if we don’t do that your sister will come barreling in at the absolute worst possible moment.”

Waverly bites her bottom lip, smiling. “Uh-huh. Wynonna has a particular talent for that.”

Nicole scrolls through her music collection, hits play on the _Dancing in the Dark_ cover they danced to a year ago.

“You have that song on your phone?” Waverly’s voice is soft and incredulous.

“Well, yeah, I listen to it sometimes.” She rubs the back of her neck, bashful. “Okay, I listen to it kind of a lot.” Some days for hours on one-track repeat…

Waverly smirks at her. It’s cocky and sexy.

“Hey now, don’t you be teasing me Waverly Earp or I’ll make you dance to a Killers song.”  
  
“I’d dance to anything with you Nicole.”

Then Waverly’s in her arms finally, and Nicole’s whole body is a sigh; a sigh of relief and contentment.

It’s different this time, and maybe it should be different worse because Nicole’s not wearing any pants and Waverly’s kind of a mess. But it’s different _better_. Better because there’s nothing holding them back now.

This time their hands are free to roam as they sway, free to chart each other’s bodies. Nicole can hold Waverly impossibly close without feeling any guilt and Waverly can tangle her fingers in the hair at the nape of Nicole’s neck.

The song ends. Just like last year they keep shuffling softly to a music of their own making. And then Waverly’s tracing Nicole’s cheekbone with her fingertips, ever so delicately. She closes her eyes, loses herself in the brunette’s touch. When she opens them again Waverly’s gazing at her with so much heat she swears she might catch fire.

“I think this is the part where I kiss you,” Nicole husks.

“Actually Nicole, this is the part where _I_ kiss _you_. You’re not stealing my thunder at the death. Uh-uh.”

She smiles at that. She’s still smiling when Waverly pulls her down and their lips touch for the very first time.

It’s slow and tender that first kiss; all sweetness and mouths just grazing. Waverly has the softest lips ever, and she tastes like wild berries with a side of vodka. Even though it’s chaste, it still makes Nicole’s head spin and her knees weak.

Because kissing Waverly isn’t like kissing other girls. Oh no. This kiss matters. This kiss comes complete with that sensation you get on a plane in the moment the wheels leave the tarmac, that pleasant, anticipatory flip in the stomach.

“You taste like chocolate,” Waverly hums when they break apart, like it’s a good thing.

“I told you.” Nicole smiles crookedly. “I ate a lot of brownies.”

“Well I’d like some more.”

Waverly pulls her back down for a second kiss and this time she’s more demanding. She coaxes Nicole’s bottom lip into her mouth, nipping gently then flicking her tongue along it before hungrily probing deeper. Nicole parts her lips and lets herself succumb to Waverly’s exploration.

When they separate Waverly tilts her head to one side and looks up at Nicole searchingly, something vulnerable in her eyes. “I won’t break Nicole, you know. I’m not made of glass.”

 _Oh._ She’s doing it again — she’s holding back, being too careful. Because of course words aren’t enough, Waverly needs an affirmation of her feelings from her body too.

And then she’s knotting her fists in Waverly’s shirt, pulling her tight against her, so that they’re chest pressed against chest, hip to hip, and mouth to mouth. She kisses Waverly hard; a desperate, bruising kiss, like she’s trying to make up for all the years they should’ve been kissing each other.

She pushes Waverly up against the bathroom sink, still kissing her fiercely, like an addict hungry for a hit. Soap and toiletries clatter to the floor but she doesn’t ease up. The brunette’s legs wrap around her waist like a vise and her nails dig half-moons into the flesh of her shoulders. A sharp band of pain pulses through her injured midriff, but she doesn’t care. She bites Waverly’s lip, coaxing a sweet moan from her, from somewhere low in her throat.

They grind against each other then, two bodies becoming one gritty, possessive love song.

When it ends they’re both breathing hard. Nicole’s struck by Waverly’s wild beauty in that moment: her pink cheeks, parted lips and the pulse visibly hammering in her throat.

She rests her forehead against Waverly’s. “Better?”

“Better,” Waverly says, sounding breathless but sated. “So much better.” She leans in and kisses the corner of Nicole’s jaw. Then she peppers a trail of hot, wet kisses down her neck until she finds her pulse point.

Nicole gasps, surprised, when Waverly scrapes her teeth there, deliberately leaving a bruise.

Marking her.

_That’s gonna be fun to explain later._

As if on cue the doorknob rattles.

“Haught? Babygirl? Are you in there? Why is this fucking door locked?”

They smile at each other.

“Does she have a tracker app planted on our phones or something?” Nicole quips.

Waverly shrugs. “It’s Wynonna. Anything’s possible.”

///

They get up before dawn to steal an hour alone together and watch the sun rise over the mountains from the southern shore of the Great Salt Lake.

When they arrive the air is thick with the scent of brine, the sky afire with rich oranges, reds and pinks.

Waverly brings a blanket and they sit on the edge of a rock wall, their legs dangling over the water while they eat cinnamon rolls and drink bad to-go coffee. When Nicole gets frosting on her fingers Waverly licks it off, slowly, finger by finger.

They dart glances at each other like thieves and Waverly can barely look at Nicole without blushing.

Waverly’s not sure she’s ever felt this sort of inner calm before. It’s a stark contrast to the turbulence of yesterday. There’s something about simply being with Nicole like this that makes her feel whole and complete, although those words don’t do the feeling justice. She has a passion for languages but she knows that there are some feelings she will never find the words for.

Alongside that unfamiliar serenity sits something else, something ravenous. She is constantly hungry for Nicole. It’s only been a few hours but she’s already addicted to her perfect lips, her sweet mouth, the soft noises she makes when Waverly kisses her just so.

She steals a glance at her now and it’s there again, that wanting, that desperate need.

Maybe it’s because Waverly feels like she’s seeing in colors that didn’t exist before today, but Nicole is radiant this morning.

Yes, there are dark smudges under her eyes from a lack of sleep and she’s wearing a ratty Killers t-shirt, but there’s something gloriously ethereal about her in the dawn light.

Her red hair is held back in a loose ponytail and Waverly’s eyes catch on the dark bruise she left on her neck last night. She flushes, recalling the surge of possessiveness that provoked it.

Nicole meets her gaze then, her brown eyes infinitely soft. “Hey Waves, I got you something.” She reaches into the backpack she brought with them and pulls out a yellow flower, a lily, and hands it to her.

Waverly beams. She holds the flower to her chest and tries not to swoon too visibly.

She can’t recall Champ ever bringing her flowers and here’s Nicole doing it on their first morning together.

“I, uh, kind of stole it from Ruby’s garden.”

Waverly chuckles. “You badass delinquent you.”

“Well I figured, given I saw some dude on ‘shrooms chowing down on those lilies last night, Ruby’s parents weren’t gonna miss one more of ‘em.”

Waverly smacks Nicole’s arm. “TMI, Haught. You’re totally ruining the romantic moment here.”

Nicole bumps her shoulder. “Stick with me baby, I’ve got all kinds of slick moves,” she jokes with a self-deprecating grin.

_Jesus, that smile._

Waverly raises trembling fingers to trace the outline of Nicole’s dimples. She’s wanted to do that for so long…

Then she can’t help herself, she leans in to capture Nicole’s lips in yet another slow, deep kiss and the rest of the world seems to darken and fade away.

It may have taken them forever to get here but she thinks she’d wait an eternity if she had to, to kiss someone and have it feel like this. With Champ it had always been a relentless, one-sided bombardment of sloppy kisses. With Nicole it’s more like a gentle, delicate dance where Waverly leads as much as she follows.

Still, it doesn’t take long for things to shift up a gear from soft to greedy. It’s all desperation, teeth and nails then, and Waverly loses herself completely in it; becomes her want, her longing, her hunger. Before long she’s sliding into Nicole’s lap and shoving a hand underneath her t-shirt, craving bare skin. But that’s not enough, copping a feel is not enough. She needs more. So much more. She grabs one of Nicole’s hands and eases it up her own thigh, under her skirt.

Nicole breaks their kiss abruptly and tugs her hand away. “Woah, slow down Waves.” She blinks down at Waverly, looking a little stunned. “We’re in public.”

“We could go back to the Mustang,” Waverly suggests, voice low and rough. “There’s a comfy, admittedly kinda cramped, backseat.”

Nicole’s eyes widen. “We’re not doing _that_ for the first time in the backseat of my car.” She kisses the tip of Waverly’s nose. “Not like that Waves.” She tilts Waverly’s chin up with a finger so that their eyes are level. “I want us to have hours the first time.”

Oh god, the cocky way Nicole looks at her as she says that _does_ something to her.

“Anyway, we’ve been gone for ages now and your sister’s probably awake. She’ll be gettin’ antsy.”

She so doesn’t want to think about Wynonna right now.

Waverly nips at Nicole’s ear, enjoying the soft moan that elicits. “You know if we bring her donuts and coffee she’ll forgive just about anything, right?”

“Hrm, I’m not sure even donuts would get us off the hook for stranding her at Ruby’s.”

Waverly huffs.

“Are you pouting right now?”

“Maybe.” Not really. She places an open-mouthed kiss to the underside of Nicole’s jaw, to the spot she’s only just worked out makes her squirm. She loves this, loves that after knowing Nicole for so many years she now gets to learn _new_ things about her.

When she’s done she settles back into Nicole’s lap, her head on her shoulder. Her gaze drifts out across the Great Salt Lake. The sun has pulled itself above the Wasatch mountains now and the water glimmers gold, alight with it.

Waverly sighs contentedly. “It’s beautiful here. So much water in one place, it goes on forever. I’ve never even seen the ocean, it must be amazing.”

Nicole startles. “You’ve never seen the ocean?” She sounds dismayed.

Waverly shakes her head sadly. “Nope, never.”

“Huh. Well we best be fixing that on this trip then.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Nicole promises with that disarming sincerity of hers, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to Waverly’s forehead.

Her heart soars and she marvels at the gift Nicole has for making her feel safe and free all at the same time.

Waverly knows then that she’s done trying to love carefully. She’s going to let herself fall hard.

Because she gets it now. The risk of getting her heart bruised or broken in that fall — that’s the price of admission for moments like these, for the possibility of pure, undiluted joy and love.

And if it means that Nicole Haught, even for just a short time, belongs to her, it’ll all be worth it.

She’ll chance her heart. She’ll pay any price, for that.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, huh? It only took 45K words. :)
> 
> So this is late and long again. I had a really hard time writing this chapter, I think it’s because I kept Nicole and Waverly apart for so much of it. Also, the angst, ugh. I’m super glad that’s over. 
> 
> I dialed back the humor in this one after a mini-crisis in confidence around Wynonna who I feel like I may have made too OOC for the sake of comedy, but I’d be interested in feedback on whether that’s a good thing.
> 
> I’m so grateful that anyone is reading this at all, and that some of you lovely people are kind enough to leave encouragement via comments and/or kudos. I know I say it a lot in the comments, but I really do appreciate it. It’s crazy motivating.
> 
> One of these days I’m going to write a shorter chapter again, hopefully soon. The next one will have some smut in it though, so who knows how long that will take me to get done! 
> 
> For the people that hate OCs I’m sorry about Brooke. That’s the worst of them out of the way for this fic until the very end when we’ll meet Nicole’s mother. It’s hard to write a road trip AU without some peripheral OCs.
> 
> If you’d like to say hi my Twitter is @McconachieEm
> 
> * I apologize to any members of the furry or LDS communities that I may have offended during the course of this chapter. I swear I tried to do my research, but if I messed anything up, I’m sorry.  
> 


	5. The words I never said

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waverly just wants to get laid, Nicole agonizes over Wynonna, Chrissy gets creative, Wynonna becomes a true Belieber, a cash crisis prompts a detour down America's loneliest highway, the group encounter a bear of a very different kind, and someone springs a surprise in Vegas.
> 
> * There's a lot of silliness in this one and a lot of lust. Sorry? :) Also a warning for sexual content at the very end.

**Day 4-6: Salt Lake City (UT) - Las Vegas (NV)**

 

> If you live,  
>  you look back and beg  
>  for it again, the hazardous  
>  bliss before you know  
>  what you would miss.  
>    
>  — Ada Limón, from “Before”

  
“How long do we have left now?” Waverly husks, voice urgent, her lips grazing Nicole’s neck. This spot she’s just found smells of vanilla and sunshine and it’s kind of amazing.

Nicole checks the timer she’s set on her watch. “Three minutes and twenty seven seconds.”

Waverly groans. It’s not enough time. There are too many places she still needs to lay her lips, her hands.

They’re in the restroom of a gas station in Provo, Utah. It’s not exactly the most pleasant setting for a make out session but it’s been a whole seven hours since they were alone together by the lake this morning and Waverly will take whatever she can get.

It’s dangerous, this. They’re not even in a stall. Anyone could walk in at any time. But there’s a fever burning brightly between them and it needs to be assuaged.

She backs Nicole flush against the cold tile of the restroom wall. Pressed this close her whole body thrums with something like electricity, a high voltage need.

“Wait, Waverly…” Nicole breathes, pulling back a millisecond before their lips meet again. She smoothly flips their positions so that’s it’s Waverly up against the wall. There’s a sliver of space between them now, a sliver of space that Waverly hates.

“W-what are you doing?” she squeaks, frustrated. They’re on the clock here, there’s no time to dally. She attempts to mold her body to Nicole’s again but the redhead holds her wrists, keeping her in check.

Nicole smiles, a soft, adoring smile. “Just let me have a moment Waves.” She kisses the tip of Waverly’s nose. “To take all of this in.” She lands tender, feather-light kisses to both of Waverly’s cheeks, her brows, her temples. “Make sure it’s real, that I’m not dreaming.”

Their eyes connect for a prolonged beat and _hot damn_ , maybe there’s something to be said for slowing things down, for giving this fire between them some oxygen.

Because nobody’s ever looked at her quite like this before, like she’s something precious.

Finally done with her patient exploration, Nicole shifts closer, cradles Waverly’s face in both hands and captures her lips in a kiss that is so deep, so languorous, that she almost forgets how to breathe. It’s a smoldering, kindled souls sort of kiss; the sort of kiss Waverly associates with her Harlequin romances, not real life.

She never wants it to end.

But then, of course, Nicole’s watch alarm goes off, a shrill series of beeps that makes Waverly flinch, severing their embrace.

Nicole sighs. “Time’s up.”

Seven minutes. That’s the hard limit they’d set themselves when they’d ducked in here, conscious that they’d lose track of time and have Wynonna hunting them down otherwise.

Despite that, Waverly keeps her face tucked into Nicole’s neck, her arms wrapped tightly around her waist, unwilling to let go just yet. They’re flirting with discovery but she can’t force herself to step back.

God she hates this. It’s only been a day, but having to conceal a relationship on a road trip really sucks. Short of jail she can’t think of a scenario where they’d get less personal space.

“Nicole?”

“Yeah Waves?”

“We need to tell Wynonna,” she blurts. Nicole stiffens in her arms. “I mean…only if you think so too?” She leans back and looks up into conflicted brown eyes. “I understand if you don’t want to…it’s gonna be messy. But the longer we leave it the worse it’ll be, right? And I don’t want her to find out the wrong way.”

If they were back home they could take their time, keep things on the down-low until they were both ready to tell Wynonna. On the road, though, in such close confines, it feels like a ticking time bomb. Discovery is inevitable. Her sister may be obtuse, but she’s not _that_ obtuse.

There’s also a part of her that doesn’t want to tarnish this thing between them by turning it into something furtive, a dirty secret. It belongs in the light. _They_ belong in the light. Not in poky, fluorescent spaces like this.

“No, it’s okay,” Nicole says, running a stressed hand through her red hair. “I want to as well…I do. It’s been killing me not telling her. I didn’t know if you were ready, is all.”

Of course Nicole wanted to tell Wynonna. She’s too honorable to be comfortable keeping something like this from her best friend.

Waverly gives a half-shrug. “I’m as ready as I can be.” She slides her hands into the back pockets of Nicole’s denim cutoffs, edging them closer together. “And I really, really don’t want us to have to be playing at sneaky squirrels in bathrooms for the rest of this trip,” she says, her voice low, needy.

“Me either.” Nicole’s fingertips trail down her spine. “God, but she’s gonna hate me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. She hates everyone you date.”

Dating, is that we’re they’re doing? Are they girlfriends now? The thought makes her warm all over. Oops, probably not the thing to focus on right now…

“No she…okay yeah maybe she does hate everyone I date, but eh, it’s a small sample size?”

She’s clutching at straws and she knows it. Their problems are much bigger than her sister’s overprotective streak. This is about trust. In their own different ways they’ve both been keeping secrets from her for a long time. Wynonna hates secrets.

And then there’s the fact that this totally disrupts the delicate balance that exists between the three of them. Nicole has always been Wynonna’s person first, not Waverly’s. Will Wynonna resent this? Will she think Waverly’s stolen her only real friend away from her?

Shoot, maybe she’s the one who should be more worried here…

Nicole groans and buries her face in Waverly’s hair. “I love the optimism Waves but trust me, she’s gonna hate me. I’ve been lying to her for years. She’s gonna be mad as a cut snake.”

Waverly leans back again to make eye contact. It hurts her heart how vulnerable Nicole looks in that moment. She cups her cheek. “Hey, we’ll get through this together, okay? She’ll get over it. It might take some time, but she loves you Nicole. And she loves me. This is a good thing, what’s happening between us, and she’ll get that…eventually.”

“Yeah?” Nicole tries to smile for her, but it comes out crooked.

“I promise,” she whispers. Then she can’t help herself, she’s peppering a line of soft kisses along Nicole’s collarbone, desperate to make this better somehow, even if only fleetingly.

Nicole shudders beneath her lips. “Jesus Waves, what are you doing to me?”

The restroom door swings open with an abrupt swish, and for a terrible second Waverly’s sure they’ve been sprung.

But it’s a prim middle-aged lady in a charcoal power suit and four-inch stilettos that catches them in their PDA. Not Wynonna. Thank god.

The woman wrinkles her nose and glares at them in disgust. She mutters “sinners” under her breath as she walks past, her heels click-clacking viciously on the tile floor as she retreats to a stall.

 _Riiiight, we’re in a conservative state._ Provo is Mormon central, after all.

“Well that just happened.” Nicole takes her hand and examines her with troubled eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” It’s unfamiliar, but a little homophobia won’t faze her. She’s an Earp, she’s made of tougher stuff. “I’m glad it wasn’t ‘Nonna. We should get back out there before she comes looking.”

“Yeah we better split. I still need to wash the ‘Stang before we hit the road.”

“Again?” She swears Nicole’s washed the Mustang at least once a day since they’ve been away.

“Hey I gotta keep her clean. Wy splashed mud all over the rims in that shemozzle of a search for a Taco Bell earlier. I swear she drove my baby through that goddamn mud pit on purpose,” Nicole grumbles.

Waverly knows she did. But that’s not the takeaway here.

“Huh, so your Mustang gets a pet name and I don’t?”

Nicole cocks an amused brow. “Are you jealous of my car, _baby_?”

Waverly beams and pecks Nicole on the cheek. “Not as long as you keep that up.”

 _Baby._ Yep, she could get used to that.

///

Waverly finds Chrissy and Wynonna camped out at one of those tacky plastic picnic tables that gas stations like this provide for outdoor dining, waiting impatiently.

“Well it’s about freaking time babygirl. Nedley junior and I were about to send out a search party. Didya fall in the bowl and get stuck again?”

Seriously? “I was five when that happened Wynonna, _five_!”

The brilliant Utah sunshine is dazzling after the dankness of the restroom so it takes her longer than it should to register Chrissy’s wide-eyed expression and the frantic hand signals she’s directing her way on the sly.

Something about her…mouth?

 _Oh crap_. She traces the edge of her lips. Uh-huh, that’s some badly smeared berry lip gloss right there. Total rookie error. She’s got a lot to learn about this clandestine love affair business.

Thankfully her sister’s attention is focused on some big ol’ trucker dude and she’s able to dab away the stray lip gloss without being detected.

“What the fuck? Did you slackers see the way that toolio just looked at me?” Wynonna tracks the trucker suspiciously as he ambles past them. “How come everybody’s staring this afternoon, huh?” She shakes her head, perplexed, and preens a little. “You’d think they’d never seen a hot Canadian before.”

Chrissy pauses mid scoop of her froyo and bites her lip.

Waverly covers her mouth with her hand, stifling a giggle.

The thing is Wynonna’s not exactly rocking her typical dark, broody look right now. Some _enhancements_ were surreptitiously made to her sister’s face while she napped in the car on the short drive between Salt Lake City and Provo earlier. Turns out Chrissy has mad skills with a ballpoint pen.

The phrase Bieber’s #1 Fan has been tattooed in black cursive across her forehead. She’s also sporting an elaborate handlebar mustache and a goatee.

And now, just to add to the overall absurdity of her appearance, Wynonna’s gone and acquired herself a Very Stable Genius trucker cap from somewhere.

“Um, ‘Nonna, where did you get that, er, thing on your head?”

Wynonna jerks a thumb towards the interior of the gas station. “Awesome isn’t it? Who knew Mormons had a sense of humor? No more fucked up convertible hair for me. Oh…but hey, I got you nerds something too.”

She hands Waverly a pink t-shirt with SAVE THE EARTH, IT’S THE ONLY PLANET WITH TACOS stenciled across it. It’s about two sizes too small.

“Uh…”

“I know you’re running low on clothes after the whole raccoons-stole-your-luggage situation.”

Raccoons? Oh jeez, not this shit again.

To Chrissy her sister hands a Snoreeze box. The blonde picks it up and turns it over in her hands, mystified. “Um, Wynonna I don’t snore?”

The Earp sisters exchange wide-eyed, are-you-kidding-me looks.

Wynonna cackles and pats Chrissy’s hand pityingly. “Oh darlin’ that’s like me saying I don’t drink.”

“What—”

“Anyways, that’s me down to my last hundred bucks now.”

Waverly startles. “You can’t be serious Wynonna. We’re only on day four. You can’t be broke already.”

“Serious as Donald Trump’s hair stylist babygirl.” Wynonna doffs her new hat. “No worries though, I always figured I’d have to pick up some odd jobs along the way.”

 _Whaaat?_ Who the fricken’ hell does odd jobs on a road trip? “Like what exactly?”

“Oh you know, the usual. Pushing meth, hooking on street corners, maybe a little stripping…”

Waverly and Chrissy stare at her blankly.

“Kidding! Sheesh, tough crowd huh? I dunno, I’ll think of something.” Wynonna drums her fingers on the table and surveys their surroundings. “Speaking of sense-of-humor-free-zones, where’s Haughtstuff at?

Waverly points past Wynonna’s shoulder, to the jet wash area where Nicole is busy getting sudsy with the Mustang. “She’s over there, washing her _baby_.”

It’s a mighty fine view from here, actually. Nicole’s stripped down to just a white tank top over her denim shorts now, and she’s pinned her hair back in a loose updo to keep it out of her eyes while she works.

“Holy fuck, again? That poor ‘Stang’s going to be rubbed bald by the time it gets to Dallas.” Wynonna shakes her head in faux-despair. “This peeps is a cautionary tale in why a neat freak should never, ever buy a white car.”

Wynonna babbles on about the gift she bought for Nicole next, a miniature ginger cat to hang from the rearview mirror, fluffy dice style, but Waverly tunes her out.

Because damn if there isn’t a sexier sight on the planet than Nicole Haught in a tank top, taut biceps and back muscles glistening under the blazing sun as she polishes the Mustang’s bodywork with a kind of reverent precision.

_Holy smokes, those hands…_

Then Wynonna says something about an off-campus apartment and Waverly jolts out of her lust haze.

“What did you just say ‘Nonna?”

“I said I hope Haught doesn’t want to get an actual feline when we move off-campus next semester. I do not want to cohabit with a sneaky little furball barf-machine. Maybe I can talk her into a ferret instead?”

“You two are moving off-campus?” she asks, voice sharp. This is the first she’s heard about it. She lodged her halls of residence application back in May, and she presumed they’d all be living on-campus together.

“Mmhm. I thought I told you already? It’s not a lock yet, we re-applied for a room again just in case, but we’re hoping we can find an apartment.” Wynonna picks at her iced donut and grins. “Man, I can’t wait to throw a proper rager at our own place. No more shitty RA rules or gnarly shared showers either.”

 _Huh._ Waverly doesn’t feel left out, not exactly. She’s always been clear on her plans to live on campus for her first year. But it sucks that they forgot to tell her about this. Also, if Wynonna goes nuclear about Waverly and Nicole, this plan could end up dust. And Wynonna seems to be genuinely excited about it, so…ugh.

“Uh-oh, sad Waverly. Don’t worry babygirl, you can crash whenever you like.” Wynonna waggles her brows. “And if you need somewhere to bring a hot boy the couch will always be yours.”

She forces a tight smile for her sister. Great, just great.

When the other two go back inside to stock up on snacks for the long drive to Moab ahead, Waverly seizes the opportunity to steal another few minutes alone with her girl.

Nicole’s soft, dimpled smile when she registers Waverly’s presence makes her insides turn to goo and her Wynonna worries fade away.

The redhead packs up the equipment she’s been using before joining her on the Mustang’s freshly polished hood. Waverly leans in close. “I missed you _baby_ ,” she teases, enjoying the way Nicole’s cheeks dust with pink at her words.

“It’s been five minutes Waves.”

“I still missed you.”

Waverly’s eyes drop to Nicole’s lips. She wants to lean across and kiss her so badly right now. She feels flammable again, like her entire body is an lit match. But she settles for snuggling into Nicole’s side and threading their fingers together.

“I missed you too.” Nicole grins at her conspiratorially. “Has your sister seen her face yet?”

Waverly shakes her head. “Uh-uh.”

“Well snap, this must be the longest she’s gone without staring at a mirror in her entire life. She’s gonna flip her lid when she finally figures it out.”

“Totally worth it,” Waverly chirps. But she doesn’t want to talk about Wynonna right now. She’s much more interested in the way Nicole’s tank top is sopping wet in some places, the way it clings revealingly to her body in those places…

An irresistible urge strikes her.

She bends down and picks up the giant sponge in the bucket by their feet. Before Nicole can react she smushes the soapy sponge into the redhead’s chest, soaking her tank all the way through.

Nicole looks down at her transparent top, her eyes widening in shock. “Waverly…”

She grins wickedly. “Oopsies.”

“Oh you so did _not_ just do that.” Nicole heaves herself off the hood, her gaze turning dark and mischievous. “I’d get running if I were you _baby_ …I’m pretty handy with a hose.”

And then they’re going at it full spy-versus-spy around the car, ducking and weaving in a high stakes game of chase. She’s doomed from the start though. Nicole’s too fast, too agile, even with the hose in hand. It’s not long before she’s captured from behind, strong arms snaking around her waist.

Waverly squeals and makes a half-hearted attempt to wrestle out of the redhead’s grasp. But honestly, she kind of likes being caught. “Now where would you like to get wet?” Nicole husks, breath hot against her ear. Waverly shivers.

The sound of a familiar throat being cleared brings an abrupt halt to their hijinks.

_Uh-oh._

“Well, well, well.” Wynonna’s standing off to their left, hands on hips, staring at them in something like disbelief. She clicks her tongue. “I never figured you two squares would be up for reenacting Girls Gone Wild: Car Wash Edition.”

It’s only then that Waverly realizes they have an audience. A pack of leather-clad bikers over by the pumps are gawking at the pair of them. Ogling them, even. _Gross._

“You two were putting on quite the show,” Wynonna snarks, brows raised. “Shame ya didn’t think to put up a sign and charge by the minute. Christ knows we could use the extra cash right now.”

Nicole releases her hold on Waverly’s waist and flips her sister the bird.

“So rude Haught. And to think I come bearing snacks too.” Wynonna holds out a jumbo bag of sour gummy worms. “The strangest thing just happened to me in there getting these. The cashier asked me for my favorite Bieber song, and I’m like how the fuck would I know, do I look like a fan of that annoying little emo brat? Jeez, just because we’re both Canadian…”

///

They’re an hour south of Provo, hurtling down the I-15 at breakneck speed with the roof down, the sky already fading to peach, when Nicole decides that gorging on sour gummy worms and chocolate-coated espresso beans wasn’t one of her saner decisions.

‘Cos she’s got one helluva buzz going on right now, and it’s not like the chilled, mellow high she got from those illicit brownies last night.

Oh no, this feels more like she drank a bathtub full of Cherry Coke and chased it with gallon of Red Bull. She’s wired as fuck.

Waverly’s at the wheel beside her, still popping the chocolate espresso beans like they’re Tic-Tacs to stay alert. Nicole doesn’t blame her. The highway in this part of Utah is monotonous. They’ve been driving in a dead straight line through a windswept, ocher moonscape for miles now. It’s like they’re on some kind of infinite airstrip that just goes on, and on, and on…

Nicole steals a glance at Waverly then, at the exact same moment the brunette goes to do the same, and it’s perfection.

Waverly’s sunkissed features are painfully pretty set against the pink-gold hues of the dusky sky. Her side-braid has come loose, strands of sandy hair flying wild and free in the wind. Her gaze is pure honey, and when she smiles at Nicole her nose crinkles in that adorable way it does when she’s genuinely happy.

Happy Waverly is Nicole’s favorite thing in the whole world.

She wants to freeze this moment, frame it, climb inside, live in it forever. She feels spectacularly alive, in love and fearless all at the same time, and it doesn’t matter what comes next or what came before, she’ll always have this.

It’s Wynonna, of course, that brings an end to her momentary bliss.

“Haughtdamn, it’s your turn to go a round. Who do ya want to do?”

“Huh?”

Things are kind of hyper in the backseats. Wynonna and Chrissy, pepped up on their own caffeine-infused sugar rush, have been working their way through a series of obnoxious road trip games.

The last time Nicole paid attention they were playing Cows on My Side, and true to form Wynonna was cheating, calling out anything with more than two legs as a cow.

“We’re playing Fuck, Marry, Kill. But it’s getting boring with just dudes. Time to gay this shit up. How ‘bout you do K-Stew, Ellen Page…and oh, you have a thing for MacKenzie Davis too right?”

Waverly side-eyes her. “You do?”

“Uh—”

“Hold up,” Wynonna interrupts, cackling. “I’ve just had a much better idea. Do the three of us.”  
  
Oh god no…

“Absolutely not Earp. That’s all sorts of messed up. Anyway, isn’t it supposed to be Kiss, Marry, Avoid?”

Wynonna snorts. “If you’re twelve and playing the lame-ass PG version, maybe.” She pouts. “C’mon, live a little Haught. Take that giant stick out from your ass for once and play along, it’s just a game…”

Nicole bristles. _Fine._

Oh man but this feels like a trap…

“Well, I know who I’d _kill_.” She shifts around in her seat, leveling her gaze at Wynonna. It’s impossible to be annoyed at her best friend, though, what with all that ridiculous graffiti on her face and the Trump cap she’s now wearing backwards. She bites her lip, suppressing a chuckle.

“Back the truck up, what?!” Wynonna yelps, faux-aggrieved. “Have you seen me? I’m clearly the one you fuck on this menu.” She runs an exhibitionist hand down her body. “Nobody turns down a no strings evening with this.” She smirks and looks smug. “No, really, nobody has.”

Nicole opts to ignore Wynonna’s theatrics. Because…awkward. “And well I guess I’d…um… _kiss_ Chrissy,” she says, careful to dodge the more explicit option after the sofa misunderstanding with Waverly last night. “One night stands aren’t my jam, and anyway Sheriff Nedley would have my head on a stake—”

“He totally would,” Chrissy agrees.

“Boring,” Wynonna sing-songs.

Now it gets dangerous. “So that leaves…I’d…um…marry Waverly because—”

_Because she’s crazy beautiful, crazy smart, and has the sweetest, purest soul of anyone I’ve ever met. Because she looks at me like I’m braver than I am. Because she’s every color I will ever need._

“—she seems like the sort of girl I could take home to my Dad…and she’d put up with a lifetime of my terrible taste in music.”

There, that wasn’t so bad.

Waverly casts a tender, knowing look Nicole’s way, taking her attention off the road for a brief moment. The Mustang veers slightly.

Wynonna makes a fake retching noise. “Ew, that’s just wrong dude. Then you’d be my sister-in-law.”

Woah, okay. That’s a strong reaction.

“I’m sorry, but what? You’re good with fucking me but you don’t want me as a sister-in-law?” Nicole struggles to keep the incredulity from her voice.

“Eh, that’s different. I have higher standards for Waverly,” Wynonna defends, her tone absent the lightness of a moment before. “And she’s out of your league Haught.”

“I am?” Waverly squeaks.

“You are. You’ve got bigger things on your horizon, babygirl, than ending up hitched to some small-town flatfoot.”

Chrissy makes a choking noise, before descending into a coughing fit so fierce that Wynonna has to thump her on the back. “You okay there Nedley junior? Sounds like you’re hacking up a furball.”

“Fine, fine. Gummy worm just went down the wrong way.”

Nicole clenches her jaw. She’s not sure whether to be offended by or anxious about Wynonna’s reaction. She settles for both.

“Don’t listen to her Nicole,” Waverly says, reaching a comforting hand across the center console to pat her knee. “I’d marry you.” She says it with conviction but she’s looking a shade paler than before.

Wynonna huffs and they all lapse into a heavy silence.

Nicole hunkers down in her seat, her eyes set pensively on the barren landscape they’re speeding through.

They have to tell Wynonna. The right thing to do isn’t always the easy thing to do, after all, and she’s known from the beginning that there’d be consequences with Wynonna for these feelings she has for Waverly.

But now she’s wondering if she’s been underestimating just how severe those consequences might be.

Her mind keeps circling on the daddy of worst case scenarios: the ultimatum. Because what if Wynonna makes her choose? What if she says it’s their friendship or being with Waverly?

What the hell does she do then?

///

Nicole can tell Wynonna’s words are weighing heavily on Waverly too, because her driving becomes erratic.

She takes her eyes off the highway more than she should, and she keeps drifting way, way over the speed limit.

To be fair, in fifth gear the Mustang always feels like it’s champing at the bit to do something closer to ninety than eighty.

When they clock in at over one hundred miles per hour, though, Nicole decides it’s time to speak up. “Waves you need to slow down. We’re gonna get a ticket.”

Waverly glances down at the speedometer. “What, oh—”

The mirrors pick up a flash of blue and orange then, vivid in the dying evening light and the faint wail of a siren starts keening from somewhere in the distance.

“Too late,” Chrissy groans.

 _Well shit._ She cranes her neck to get a good look behind them. There’s a white Dodge Charger emblazoned with the Utah Highway Patrol insignia on their tail, and it’s closing fast.

“Holy fuck it’s the fuzz,” Wynonna yelps, panicking. “Floor it babygirl—”

“Don’t you dare Waves,” Nicole cuts in, glaring at Wynonna. “Slow down and pull over. We can’t outrun a cop car.”

Waverly darts little glances back and forth between the two of them, clearly in two minds.

“Balls. Sure we can,” Wynonna urges, leaning forward to pop her head over the center console. “We’ve got plenty of ponies. And what if there’s a warrant out for us after that Idaho bar brawl, huh?”  
  
They’re running out of time, the Dodge isn’t far behind, its siren more of a scream than a faint song now.

“Not likely,” Nicole growls. “Waves, listen to me, if we try and outrun this cop we really _will_ have to do a Thelma and Louise. It’s not worth it.”

Waverly shakes her head then, like she’s coming out of a daze. “Fudge, you’re right Nicole…you’re right.” She slows the car to a crawl, indicates and pulls over to the side of the highway.

Wynonna slumps back in her seat, scowling and mumbling something about stupid cops under her breath.

Nicole reaches for Waverly’s hand and gives it a quick squeeze. “It’s gonna be fine, okay? It’s just a ticket.”

Waverly searches her eyes. She must find what she needs there because her shoulders relax and she exhales deeply.

Nicole turns her attention to the back. “Wynonna make sure that Colt is stashed well and good,” she orders, “and shove that freaking flask of yours through to the trunk. Otherwise it’ll counts as an open container of booze.”

“So bossy,” Wynonna grumbles, but she does what she’s told.

The Dodge pulls in tight behind them. After what feels like an age a car door slams and the ominous sound of boots crunching on gravel cuts through the air.

Nicole feels the beginnings of a cold sweat break out. She sure hopes she’s right about this.

“Jackpot nerds,” Wynonna hisses from the back, eying up the tall, lanky figure stalking towards them. “It’s a dude cop, he can’t be more than twenty-five and he looks hella horny. If we play our cards right we might get out of this shit sandwich of a situation with a warning.”

Nicole shakes her head in wonder, marveling at her best friend’s ability to shift seamlessly from let’s-do-a-runner to let’s-shamelessly-flirt-our-way-out-of-this mode.

“Haughtdamn get those long legs up on the dash,” Wynonna fires off. “Waves lose the top buttons of that hippie sack you’re wearing, you’re not a nun. Nedley junior…huh, you’re good to go girl, you’re a knockout.”

For her part Wynonna shrugs off her leather jacket, tugs her t-shirt lower and musses her hair into something that’s supposed to be sexier. _Good grief._

The trooper that sidles up to Waverly’s side of the Mustang may be young, but he doesn’t look like the horny type to Nicole. Dressed in a mud brown uniform shirt and khakis, he’s all sharp angles, stern features and tight lips.

The Dodge’s police lights, still flashing a luminous blue and orange silently behind them, are mirrored in the gleaming gold badge he wears proudly on his chest. It dazzles Nicole’s eyes.

The trooper stoops low over Waverly’s door. He’s chewing gum, his jaw working hard. “Ma’am do you know how fast you were going?”

“Uh, no officer,” Waverly squeaks. “I do not. I’mreallyreallysorry—”

But he’s not interested in apologies, he’s all business. “Do you know the speed limit on the interstate here in Juab County?”

“Er, it’s eighty…I-I think?” Waverly admits, wincing.

“Can I see your driver’s license and registration please?”

Nicole fumbles in the glove compartment for the Mustang’s papers, handing them to Waverly who passes them and her license over to the officer.

“Canadians hmm?” He doesn’t look impressed. “I’m sorry but I’m going to have to issue you ladies with a ticket today. Y’all were doing twenty-two MPH over the limit in a construction zone. That’s a four hundred and twenty buck fine.”

 _Oh wow._ That’s a shit-ton of money.

Waverly gapes slack-jawed at the officer, stunned.

And that’s when Wynonna decides it’s time to step up to the plate. She flips her hair theatrically and tugs her scoop-cut Nine Inch Nails t-shirt even lower, exposing so much cleavage Nicole fears she might pop right out.

“How do you feel about boobies officer?” Wynonna drawls in a sultry voice.

_Yikes, that’s direct._

The trooper’s eyes narrow and he stiffens, somehow managing to look even more humorless than a moment ago. “Are you trying to _corrupt_ an officer of the law miss?”

“That depends,” Wynonna replies saucily. “Are you corruptible?”

Of all the reactions Nicole might expect, it’s not what comes next: the trooper bursts out laughing.

“I’m sorry ma’am,” he barks out once he catches his breath. “I’ve been propositioned by a lot of types, but never by a lady with her love for Justin Bieber written all over her person, and a mustache and goatee to boot.”

“’The hell?” Wynonna squawks, incensed. “Super rude buddy. My facial hair removal regime is top notch. And Bieber? Why the fuckety fuck is everyone today going on about that little twerp…”

The other shoe finally drops. Wynonna sits forward to get a proper look at herself in the rearview mirror. She does a startled double-take. “Well fuck me, this explains a lot.” She traces her fingers over the ink and her brows knit fiercely. “You mofos think you’re real funny, huh? Well just you wait…”

_Uh-oh. She’s gonna blow her top._

The trooper must think so too, because his serious demeanor returns and he sniffs at the air around Wynonna. “Have you been drinking ma’am?”

“Who me? Never touch the stuff. Total teetotaler here. Blech alcohol.”

He’s not buying it. “If you girls don’t mind I’d like to take a look in the trunk.”

_Oh great. Please don’t let Wynonna have slipped the gun in there…_

They suffer through a tense few moments as the trooper rummages and bangs around in the back. It’s not long before he returns brandishing something metallic and rectangular, and Nicole’s pulse races at the sight. But it’s not the Colt.

It’s Wynonna’s flask.

“Yeah I don’t know whose that is,” Wynonna lies, straight-faced. “Never seen it before in my life. You know what though, this car does have a serious raccoon problem, maybe those pesky varmints got on the hooch back there?”

The trooper sighs, visibly tiring of Wynonna’s antics. “Look ladies I’m going to give you a break on this one.” He jiggles the flask. “But I’ll be keeping this. Y’all are underage. Make sure you pay that ticket within fourteen days, or register for a court appearance.” He tips his hat. “You drive safe now.”

And with that the trooper and his Dodge are gone, back down the interstate in a cloud of chalky grey Utah dust.

Nicole slumps back in her seat, nerves shot to pieces.

“I can’t believe that cop stole my flask,” Wynonna whines. “We’ve been through so much together.”

_Seriously?_

“That’s your takeaway here Earp?” Nicole scolds. “Poor Waves just got a four hundred buck fine.” She shakes her head at her best friend’s insensitivity. “So where’d you stash the gun anyways?”

Wynonna cackles. “It’s in my knickers. Good thing he didn’t wanna do a body search, huh?”

///

_Four hundred and twenty dollars._

Waverly stares anxiously down at the ticket on the table. The digits swim before her eyes, but they don’t alter. She feels queasy.

They’re in a diner in Holden, a tiny town off the I-15, grabbing a quick meal and licking their wounds after their encounter with the state trooper.

Holden is charming in a faded glory kind of way. Once known as Buttermilk Fort according to her guidebook, the whole town is a slice of Americana; grain silos, tractors, stars and stripes flapping in the breeze, clipped lawns and strips of brightly colored flowers.

On their way into the Buttermilk Diner — a kitsch establishment straight out of the 1950s, red booths and all — Waverly had allowed herself to imagine that it was just her and Nicole here tonight, that they were on a date.

It’d been amazeballs for the fifteen seconds the fantasy lasted.

At least they’re sitting next to each now, pressed close in the booth, their bare legs mashed together under the table.

_Four hundred and twenty dollars._

It’s almost half the cash she had left for this trip, gone just like that. And with Wynonna broke too…

“Are you okay Waves?” Nicole asks softly, those brown sugar eyes of hers brimming with concern.

She swallows hard, fingering the ticket. “I’ve never even had a speeding ticket before,” she admits. Not that she hasn’t deserved one, oh no, but there are definite perks to being Purgatory’s sweetheart and best friend’s with the Sheriff’s daughter. “So to get a four hundred buck one…eh, I’m hyperventilating a little here.”

Nicole squeezes her leg under the table, and holy crap it’s crazy the way her body sparks at the redhead’s touch.

“I can take care of it for you…if you like?” Nicole suggests, tentative but cajoling. “I mean it was my Mustang that got you into trouble.” She smiles, dimples blooming. “My _baby_ likes to speed.”

Oh gosh, the way Nicole’s looking at Waverly right now, like she’d give her anything, do anything for her. It’s incredibly sweet. Not that she can accept…

“We don’t need your charity Haught,” Wynonna cuts in from across the table, bristling. “An Earp always pays her own debts.”

Nicole’s eyes flash. “Mhmm, and how’s that working out for you Cersei Lannister? I hear you’re down to your last hundred bucks.”

“I’m on it,” Wynonna replies tersely, picking at the fringe of her leather jacket and avoiding Nicole’s glance.

Well crap, things still seem tense between these two after that dumbass game earlier. She hates it when they fight.

The waitress, a diminutive chain-smoker in her sixties, arrives then bearing all four of their meals. Once she’s done laying the plates out before them she stalls and gazes fixedly at her sister.

“You ain’t from around here, is ya?”

_Christ on a cracker, here we go again._

Wynonna’s yet to wash that ridiculous graffiti off of her face. She’s wearing it like a badge of honor now, enjoying the random attention she gets from it.

“Greetings citizen of Earth,” Wynonna deadpans, adopting the flat facial expression of a devout evangelical at a Christian rock concert. “Twenty-four years ago my companions and I arrived on a spaceship from planet Bieber to await the birth of the chosen one.”

The waitress’s eyes bug out of their sockets. It’s all in the delivery and this poor lady obviously hasn’t seen much of the world because for a second she seems to buy that there’s a genuine space alien in her diner.

Chrissy’s giggling fit gives Wynonna away, though.

The waitress huffs and stalks off, muttering disapprovingly about “young women these days”.

Halfway through their meal Waverly spots some maple syrup lingering at the corner of Nicole’s lips. She leans across to swipe it away, and without thinking, slips her thumb into her own mouth afterward to lick it clean, enjoying the sweetness on her tongue.

Then it hits her. _Shoot, did I just do that?_

Wynonna drops her fork, looking disgusted. “Ew, okay, you two really, really need to work on your boundaries.”

She’s so bad at being stealth…

Nicole stares at her, dazed, and honestly, a little lovestruck.

Waverly can’t help herself then, she shoves the plate with her tofu scramble aside to slide a hand under the table and across to Nicole’s bare leg. She trails her fingers agonizingly slowly up Nicole’s thigh, appreciating the way the redhead’s breathing hitches as she inches ever closer to the hem of her denim shorts…

“Holy shit I’ve got it,” Wynonna exclaims abruptly, causing Nicole to slam her leg, and Waverly’s hand with it, into the base of the table. _Welp._

Nicole mouths a furtive _I’m sorry_ , eyes wide.

“I’ve just had my best idea ever peeps,” Wynonna continues, perking up.

Nicole groans, stabbing her pancakes with her fork testily. “Oh god, please tell me this won’t be like the last best idea ever you had. You know, the night you got me drunk on Jack and tricked me into hate-watching Fifty Shades Freed?”

“Dude. I’m sorry about that. I should’ve got you high on ‘shrooms instead. Only way to take that monstrous disappointment.”

“I’m scarred for life by the kitchen sex scene Earp. I’ll never look at a tub of Ben and Jerries the same way again.”

Wynonna waggles her brows and smirks. “Oh come on Haught, you so know you want to try that with a girl.”

Waverly’s completely lost, because ew, Fifty Shades, but she’s glad they’re back to bantering with each other.

Wynonna clears her throat. “Anyways, my idea to deal with our cash crisis. Wait for it…” She bangs out a drum roll on the table. “Vegas! Boom shakalaka.”

Well that’s interesting…

Nicole snorts. “Let me get this straight, your big idea to get yourself out of a cash hole is to _hit the slot machines_? Oh Earp. Because boozing isn’t enough, you need to add a gambling problem into the mix too?”

“Not the slots numbnuts,” Wynonna fires back, glaring. “Everyone knows they’re rigged. I happen to be a crack hand at Texas Hold’em poker and Waves here is a whiz at Blackjack. Our good for nothin’ Daddy didn’t gift us much in life, but he did teach us how to play a mean round of cards.”

It’s true. Wynonna’s got mad skills at the poker table and Waverly’s picked up some neat tricks of her own over the years. Enough to turn their money troubles around? Maybe. Providing their fake IDs hold up, of course.

But Nicole remains skeptical. “I dunno Earp. Our schedule’s real tight now that we’re going back via the Pacific Coast Highway.”

Wynonna’s brows shoot up. “Huh? Since when?”

“Since Waverly told me she’s never seen the ocean.”

“Oh, so when _babygirl_ wants to add a stop it’s fine and dandy. But when I want to add a stop, you turn into queen brisk of bossy town and it’s no can do…”

“That’s right,” Nicole agrees, completely unapologetic.

Her sister’s jaw drops.

It’s kind of hot Nicole being all Department of No with Wynonna. Except that she likes the Vegas idea. Not least because it means that their chances of getting some alone time are much higher with Wynonna distracted by the poker tables.

She pulls out her map and spreads it across the table in front of them, surveying their options and calculating distances in her head.

“Um Nic, if we were to head to Vegas now we could take Highway 50 for some of the way. That’s America’s loneliest highway, it’s supposed to be crazy scenic.” She bats her lashes at Nicole and tries for her best puppy dog eyes. “I’ve always wanted to go.”

For good measure she returns her hand to Nicole’s leg, tracing lazy little circles along her thigh.

“Fine,” Nicole chokes out, resistance crumbling under Waverly’s touch. “Whatever you want Waves.”

Wynonna glances back and forth between the two of them, shaking her head in disbelief. “Un-fucking-believable.”

When Waverly’s hand under the table threatens to go to places it shouldn’t again, Nicole covers it with her own to hold it in place, lacing their fingers together. The redhead closes her eyes for a brief moment and swallows, looking overwhelmed.

 _Shoot_ , they need to take this somewhere else, pronto.

Waverly stands abruptly, almost knocking over her plate in the process. “C’mon Nicole, we’ve gotta go to the bathroom now.”

Nicole looks up at her, dazed and confused. “We do?”

Wynonna eyes them suspiciously. “You two sure spend a lot of time in restrooms lately. Anyone’d think you have a crack habit.”

She’s got an addiction alright, it’s just to a girl, not a drug. Or maybe the girl is a drug.

Waverly plasters her widest fake smile on. It hurts her cheeks. “Nope. No crack habits here.” She wracks her brain for an excuse. “We’ve, uh, gotta change the dressing on Nicole’s cut again.”

“Yeah that,” Nicole says, standing up. “Dressing…cut…change…gotta,” she forces out, losing her words. _Oh boy._

Chrissy snickers.

They bolt for the bathroom then, before they give the game away entirely.

Waverly tugs Nicole into a stall this time, locking it behind them. She pushes Nicole against the flimsy wall, so hard it actually flexes. But she doesn’t care: she’s on a mission. In that moment her lips want Nicole like her lungs want air.

She links her wrists behind the redhead’s neck, pulling her down into a bruising kiss. And for a precious few seconds, lost in Nicole, lost in the sweet heat of her mouth, the gentle brush of her tongue against hers, the divine calligraphy of her deft fingers shivering over the slight bend in her back, Waverly feels some respite at last from the hot ache of unmet want.

She wonders when this hungry thing inside of her will let go. Will she always want like this?

She’s almost embarrassed by it. Because what if it’s too much? What if she scares Nicole away? Nicole with her patient, careful hands that hold Waverly like she’s oh so fragile, like she’s made of spun sugar.

When they break apart, both breathing hard, Nicole cups her cheek and their eyes connect. Her fears melt away because Nicole’s gazing at her like she can’t hold enough of her in her hands, either. Waverly thinks she could get drunk on looks like that…

Sated for the moment she snuggles into the redhead’s lean frame, pressing her face into her neck, inhaling the commingled scent of vanilla and something unique to Nicole.

“I’m sorry about the way Wynonna acted earlier,” she murmurs, trailing fingertips down Nicole’s side. “The way she insulted you, during that stupid game.”

Nicole tenses. “You don’t need to apologize for your sister Waves. Ever.”

“I know. But you need to understand why she said it. She has a thing about cops and small towns. It reminds her too much of Daddy, and of him driving our Momma away.”

Of misery, alcoholism, dead-ends, furious fists and belt buckles that left worse scars on the inside than the outside.

“I get that. I get that she wants more for you. That she doesn’t want you retreading your Momma’s life.” Nicole presses the ghost of a kiss to her forehead. “And maybe she’s right, because I _am_ gonna be a cop, and chances are I _will_ end up in a small town. Heck, Sheriff Nedley already as good as offered me a job in Purgatory when I graduate.”

 _Oh wow._ That’s big news. She’s not sure how she feels about that. She files it away for later.

“So maybe Wynonna’s right,” Nicole says, and there’s a little crack in her voice, “maybe I’m not good enough for you. Because you’re special, Waverly Earp, and you’re going to do amazing things. I don’t ever want to hold you back—”

“No,” she says fiercely, clasping a hand over Nicole’s mouth before she can say anymore. “I don’t care what Wynonna says. We’re nothing like my parents, we never will be, and I like that you want to be a cop. You’re incredible, you’re more than good enough for someone like me.”

She’s conscious that they’re getting ahead of themselves some with this sort of talk. They’re young, they’re not supposed to be thinking beyond the next few weeks. But then, there’s always been something about Nicole that makes her think in forevers.

“You’re sweet.” Nicole sighs against her hair. “Still, it’s just another thing to add to the long list of reasons Wynonna’s gonna freak when we tell her about us, yeah?”

 _Probably._ Her sister’s reaction earlier today hadn’t exactly been reassuring.

“Maybe we should wait another few days?” Waverly suggests, unable to keep the hopefulness from her voice.

Nicole tilts Waverly’s chin up with a finger, searching her eyes. “If that’s what you want.”

Waverly nods. It is. It’s risky but she’d like the chance to revel in this a little longer before they have to face her sister’s wrath.

“Okay,” Nicole whispers and then Waverly’s lips are on the redhead’s skin and god she wants to live here, wants to build a home in this place where Nicole’s pretty throat meets her exquisite jawline.

Waverly takes Nicole’s hands and guides them under the hem of her shirt. She leans back and they make prolonged eye contact. There’s a disconnect between Nicole’s startled, deer-in-the-headlights gaze and her confident, assured touch as she slides her hands ever upwards, kindling a fire between them.

“I don’t want to wait Nicole,” she says then, hoping her meaning is clear. “I want to know all of you.”

There have been so many wasted days. Now it feels like every second counts. She wants to forge something deeper between them while they still can, something that will help them withstand what’s coming.

“O-okay. We’ll find a way. Soon,” Nicole promises, swallowing hard.

Waverly hopes that soon means later tonight.

///

Nicole has become the road.

She’s so relentlessly focused on the silver ribbon of America’s loneliest highway as they race through the blue-black night that there is only this. There is only the thwack of rubber on asphalt and the Mustang’s headlamps cutting a yellow swathe through the beautiful wasteland of the Great Basin Desert.

She’s racing the clock and losing. They’ve booked a room in a motel near Major’s Place, just past the Utah-Nevada border. But it’s still over an hour’s drive away, with nothing but desolate desert in between, and the motel’s reception is due to close in five minutes.

Maybe they’ll be sleeping in the car tonight.

Then there’s the swelling storm that lies ahead of them. There’s a glittering thunderhead directly in their path and there’s no way to detour around it or outrun it. She can either drive straight into the guts of this thing or turn tail. Ever the fighter, she opts to push onward.

If there’s electricity crackling in the air outside of the car, there’s just as much inside. Waverly’s riding shotgun beside her, casting Nicole charged looks that alternate between hungry and desperate.

On the stereo between them Brandon Flowers is crooning away, urging lovers to take chances on hot nights and that feels about right. Because damn is it hot in the desert tonight; an oddly sticky, wet heat that has her all bothered. And as for taking chances…

Nicole is nervous. About sex. She’s never been nervous about sex before. But then she’s never made love to someone, and that’s what this will be, for her at least. She’s been in love with Waverly for so long from afar that being with her now is almost surreal; she loves her quietly, gently, without any expectations.

It’s different for Waverly. She’s in a rush, and Nicole’s not sure what that means.

Maybe this is just lust for Waverly. Nicole knows what that’s like, to be the one that’s in lust rather than love, she’s been there with Shae. She knows what it is to forge a relationship out of the white hot fire of sexual desire alone. It’s like building a house without a frame. In time the house always burns down, consumes itself, leaving nothing but ashes and somebody else’s broken heart.

Not that there’s any point in dwelling on that. Waverly is the porch light and Nicole is the moth, helplessly drawn to her, no matter what the ultimate cost.

A wicked gust of wind buffets the Mustang then, briefly pushing the car into the wrong lane before Nicole can fight it back. A beat later a crack of thunder sounds, deep and booming. The air grows thicker. Rain is coming.

“We have to pull over and put the roof up,” Nicole calls out to Waverly over another clap of thunder, slowing the car to a stop. “It’s about to bucket down.”

The brunette nods, her eyes on the live rain radar she’s brought up on her phone. She shoots Nicole a worried glance. “This thing looks hella bad Nic.”

The other two are passed out in the backseats, Chrissy’s head on Wynonna’s shoulder. Their ability to somehow take a nap during this is mighty impressive.

Waverly has to get a blanket out of the trunk once the roof is up so Nicole escorts her, taking the chance to stretch out her cramped legs.

While Waverly rummages for her blanket Nicole leans her back against the Mustang and lets the silence and emptiness of the desert crash over her. White sheet lightening flickers in the night sky, exposing the vast expanse of low ridges and valleys that surround them. It’s beautiful.

“We’re not going to make it, are we?” Waverly asks from beside her, disappointment coloring her voice.

It’s a loaded question. For the two of them getting to the motel tonight was about more than just sleeping, not that Nicole’s sure how that was going to work, anyway.

She turns to Waverly and their eyes lock for a moment as lightening flashes again in the sky above them. “I don’t think so Waves.” She rubs the back of her neck. “I’m gonna try. But if this storm is a kicker…we might have to pull into a rest area and ride it out.”

The four of them sleeping in the tight confines of the Mustang is not an appealing option, but it might be their _only_ option out here tonight.

Waverly bobs her head twice as she drops the trunk closed with a frustrated thud.

Driven by a desire to sate Waverly somehow, to take the edge off that frustration, Nicole moves in behind her, molding their bodies against the Mustang. She brushes Waverly’s long hair aside to place a lingering open mouthed kiss to her neck.

Waverly whimpers, arching her back into Nicole and dipping her neck to the side to expose more of her throat, and Nicole takes advantage.

It starts to rain then, just a few drops that sizzle as they hit the still warm bodywork of the Mustang.

She circles an arm around Waverly’s waist, her hand splaying across the bare skin of the brunette’s stomach. It feels hot there, burns like a brand. The rain begins to fall harder and the desert air around them turns sweet and earthy.

“God Nicole, I need…”

“I know baby,” she husks into Waverly’s ear. “I know.”

Maybe it’s the frenzy of the storm swirling around them, or maybe she’s been brooding about lust too much, but she’s sorely tempted in that moment to slide her hand lower, to take Waverly now, out here, like some primal, wild thing.

But that’s not how this goes. She wants to make love to Waverly, not succumb to a quick rush of blood. And Wynonna is only yards away, she could rouse at any moment. She may be reckless, but she’s not stupid. Doing that out here would be like playing Russian Roulette with every chamber of the gun loaded.

“C’mon Waves we’re getting drenched,” Nicole murmurs, leading Waverly back to the blessedly dry interior of the Mustang.

She shifts into gear and they’re off again, pushing through rain so heavy now that the wipers struggle to clear it from the windshield. The wind bats at the car, buffeting it from side to side like it weighs nothing, like it’s a leaf in the breeze. Nicole’s shoulders become bunched and her arms sore as she fights to keep the Mustang straight and avoid aquaplaning on the slickly wet asphalt.

It’s about now that she wishes she’d had more than four hours sleep last night. The buzz from those chocolate coated espresso beans has long worn off and a deep exhaustion is setting in. Waverly is even more fatigued, though, having done the bulk of the driving today.

They climb into a twisting section of the highway set amongst low-slung hills. She’s rounding a blind left-hand corner when something hulking and white suddenly appears out of nowhere. She brakes hard and heavy, so hard the brakes squeal and the car thrashes wildly, fishtailing as it loses traction on the slippery road surface.

For an awful moment she’s sure she’s going to make contact. But somehow a snap of the wrist at the exact right millisecond slides the car into a measured, graceful arc, sweeping around the obstruction.

The car sits stationary and diagonal across the road, steaming under the teeming rain. A herd of elk, bleached white under the Mustang’s headlights, swarm around them.

“Holy shit where did these critters come from?” Wynonna exclaims from the back, wrenched awake at last by their near collision.

“They’re beautiful,” Waverly observes, in a hushed, reverent voice.

They are. The elk closest to them turns its marble eyes towards Nicole, its nostrils flaring, taking her in. Lightening flickers above them and for her a moment she feels like it’s just her and this majestic elk all alone in the world.

It’s humbling. She decides she’s done taking chances on a hot night.

“So about stopping at that rest area…” she says.

///

“Someone crack a window, it smells like Doritos and feet in here,” Wynonna quips.

Nicole groans. “Don’t you dare Earp, the rain’ll blow in the back.”

This sleeping in the Mustang business is turning out to be even more uncomfortable than Nicole anticipated.

Waverly and Nicole are huddled in the backseats under a blanket, attempting to lie straight on their sides but there’s not enough space. You’d have to be a hobbit to fit. A short, squat hobbit.

Nicole’s spooning Waverly, her long frame curved like a bow. It’s awkward as hell, but at least Waverly might be able to get some sleep in her arms.

Outside the storm rages on. The rain is still tapping out a steady beat on the Mustang’s canvas roof and there’s a gale blowing, rocking the car from side to side whenever a stiff gust hits.

“I’m hungry,” Chrissy complains from the front passenger seat, “What snacks do we have left guys?”

There’s a rustling noise up front as Wynonna checks. “Just these zingtastic chocolate coated espresso beans Nedley junior. You up for another round?”

 _Oh god no._ Nicole and Waverly will never get any sleep if the other two hit the espresso beans again.

“How ‘bout you two not load up on caffeine right now, huh? We’d like to get some sleep back here.”

“Well somebody’s a grumpy Haughtpants tonight,” Wynonna snarks. “Just because you let babygirl talk your dumbass beanpole self into sleeping in the cheap seats.”

Like she had a choice. If Waverly wants to spoon, they’re gonna spoon. The brunette grinds against Nicole then, reaffirming why they’re back here rather than sprawled out in the more comfortable, reclining front seats.

This blanket sure is hot though…

An explosive huffing roar cuts through the night air then, close by the car. Waverly jolts in her arms.

“What the fuckety fuckety is that noise?” Wynonna exclaims, sitting forward in her seat and attempting to peer into the pitch black outside.

“Could it be a bear maybe?” Chrissy suggests, plastering her face to the window for a better look herself.

If it’s a bear it’s in dire in need of an asthma inhaler, because it’s making some mighty peculiar huffing sounds.

“’The hell? There are bears here? In the desert? Is there no place safe from those fuckers?”

 _Oh jeez._ Wynonna’s bear-phobia is kicking in again.

“I think my guidebook said that there are some black bears here?” Waverly says. “But you should Google it.”

Wynonna grabs for the nearest phone in the center console, swiping at its screen, frantic.

“Holy mother of god!” Wynonna yelps, dropping the phone again like its got cooties. “Baby sis, why is there a _how to have lesbian sex for the first time_ article open on your phone?”

Uh-oh.

Waverly sits up, panicking. She stares down at Nicole, wild-eyed and embarrassed. “Uh—”

“It’s mine,” Nicole cuts in, improvising. “I mean I was reading it…on Waverly’s phone.”

“’The fuck? Since when did you need an introductory sex guide Haught? The ice queen always seemed hella satisfied based on the banshee-like moans emanating from our room every time I came home to find a sock on our door. Which was a lot of the time, by the way…”

 _Really not helping Earp._ If Waverly’s feeling insecure that’s the last thing she needs to hear right now.

“Yeah but I like to prime up on the basics every now and again,” she deadpans, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Huh. Well, I guess it _has_ been a while since you last had any action,” Wynonna smarms, somehow buying Nicole’s bullshit. “I’m more of an advanced placement sort of gal when it comes to researching naughty times, but whatevs. Keep your porn off my sister’s phone in the future. Now, back to our bear problem…”

Nicole folds Waverly back into her arms. This time Waverly turns towards her, ducking her face into Nicole’s neck. She makes a cute little snuffling noise and Nicole can feel the blazing, embarrassed heat still radiating from the brunette’s cheeks.

Of course Waverly would research how to have sex with a girl. She researches everything. It’s adorable.

Outside the rain starts to ease and the weird huffing noise stops.

Maybe they can finally get some sleep…

But no, Waverly finds Nicole’s hand, guides it under her shirt. It’s dark in the car but it’s still risky with Wynonna on the lookout for a bear a mere few feet from them. Things get even more dicey when she discovers that the brunette has shed her bra.

Nicole closes her eyes. God, Waverly’s chest is silky soft and she aches to do things, so many things there. But she keeps herself in check. She makes do with pressing her palm over Waverly’s wild, racing heart. It’s their thing, after all.

Then a loud scratching noise tears through the night as something runs its claws over the back of the Mustang’s roof. The huffing noise starts up again, and the car starts rocking in time with it.

_Okay, so this is getting kinda freaky now._

“Holy shit I think there might be two bears doing the nasty on our trunk,” Wynonna yelps.

It’s impossible to tell, it’s pitch black. But the car is rocking in a way that’s consistent with critters getting amorous.

There’s only one way to find out. “Give me that gun of yours Earp, I’m going out there.”

“What?” Wynonna squawks. “Have you lost your goddamned mind? There’s BEARS out there Haught, BEARS.”

“I don’t care what they are. They’re messing with my Mustang and they’re stoppin’ me getting any sleep.” She sits up and shrugs on her jacket. “I’m gonna scare them off.”

She’s getting cabin fever just sitting in here while weird shit is going on outside around her.

“Nicole don’t…” Waverly pleads.

Wynonna passes her the Colt, shaking her head at her like she’s a crazy woman. “You’ve got some serious ice in your veins to wanna mix it with bears dude.”

The rocking stops then, but the huffing starts up again a beat later somewhere a little further off.

Nicole’s already out of the car with the cold, silver gun in one hand, a flashlight in the other, when Wynonna calls her back.

“Wait up Haught, I’m coming with you.”

She spins around and shines the torch at her best friend. Wynonna squints, irritated by the light. “Really Earp? Even though there might be _bears_ out here?”

Wynonna shoots her a sheepish, crooked grin. “I’ve got your back Nicole.” She offers her fist up for a fist bump, which Nicole meets. “Always got your back dude. Even with gah… _bears_ in play.” She looks nervous as hell.

Nicole smiles back, touched by her friend’s courage, her trueness.

“I’ll need a weapon to take on those furry jackholes though. Let me fish something out of the trunk.”

They move to the rear of the car. Nicole inspects the back of the Mustang for any damage while Wynonna roots around in the back.

Wynonna withdraws something long and thin, wielding it in two hands like it’s a samurai sword. “Now we’re talking. I’m gonna go Tommy Lee Jones on this bear’s ass. I’m a real whiz with a tire iron you know.”

“Wynonna that’s an umbrella.”

“Oh shit.”

Once Wynonna’s armed with an actual tire iron they start off in the direction of the huffing.

It’s eerie out here. The storm has mostly abated now but it’s still blowing a gale and there are some big, fat drops of rain about. The air is thick with the sweet scent of wet sagebrush.

When Nicole shines her torch around the rest area she’s surprised to find not just the RV that was there when they arrived earlier, but five pickup trucks, all of them deserted. Strange.

In the distance a coyote howls mournfully. A second later another coyote howls back.

“Jesus there’s a right menagerie out here tonight,” Wynonna hisses, sounding rattled.

Nicole trips on something hard and raised poking out of the rocky ground then. She steps back to shine her torch on the object. It’s the bleached white skull of a long-horned sheep.

“Eek.” Wynonna gets the fright of her life when she registers it, jumping backwards into Nicole. “Do you think the BEARS mauled that thing?”

“Calm down.” She deposits Wynonna back onto the ground. “Did you really just leap into my arms Earp?”

“That didn’t happen. Let’s never speak of it again Haught.”

Wynonna’s agitation is starting to rub off on Nicole. She rolls her shoulders, keen to get this over with.

The huffing is louder now, more heated. It’s coming from behind one of the trucks. They creep towards it. Strangely the huffing seems to have an echo further along as well, as if there’s another set of bears getting randy. And maybe a third set, even further along…

They round the corner of the pickup and Nicole lifts her torch, illuminating a scene that she dearly wishes she could unsee.

A scrawny guy with his front smushed against the side of the truck is getting plowed into from behind by an older, hairy, beefier man with his trousers down by his feet.

“’The fuck?” The bigger dude yells, shielding his eyes from the blinding light of the torch.

_Oh shit. This must be a gay cruising spot._

“Run Earp.”

And then they’re sprinting, barreling through the hot desert night like they’ve got an actual bear on their tail.

Even though no one is giving chase.

In time they take cover on the ground behind the Mustang; spent, breathing hard, bodies singing with adrenalin.

“Is this place what I think it is Haught?” Wynonna gasps out, eyes wide.

“Uh-huh, I reckon it is Earp.”

“Jeez, don’t these dudes have Grindr now?”

“Well we’re in the sticks,” Nicole says, “there’s always closeted fellas who need anonymous hookups in places like this.”

“Oh man I can’t believe we thought they were BEARS. How fucking stupid are we?” Wynonna starts cackling then and can’t seem to stop.

Nicole joins in. And suddenly she’s fourteen again, sitting on a ratty couch, laughing with the aloof and ever-so-cool Wynonna Earp as she tries and fails to apply a band-aid to a gash Nicole’s just acquired in her first ever fight, on her first day at a new school. A fight she only got into because some asshole boys had Wynonna bailed up behind the Purgatory Middle School bike sheds, singing that her Momma’s a whore and her Daddy’s a drunk. Singing things that Nicole could never abide.

Back in the present a coyote lets rip from a hill behind them. Wynonna, still flush with adrenalin, throws her head back to howl right back at it, into the blustering wind.

Not one but three coyotes reply, a strange sort of primal desert symphony.

Wynonna elbows Nicole. “Your turn Haught, go on, give it a shot.”

So she does, a full-lunged, no-holds-barred howl out into the black night. It feels good to let go. No, it feels _great_. She’s a flung open door. In that one riotous, blazing, windswept moment she is truly alive.

And she knows that she cannot lose this. She _cannot_ and _will not_ lose Wynonna.

///

Waverly wakes up alone in the back of the Mustang. Alone and hot. Oh so hot. It’s eight in the morning but the desert sun is already beating down on them something fierce, turning the inside of the car into an airless hothouse.

Up front the other two are still asleep, Chrissy snorting and kazooing as raucously as ever. _So much for the Snoreeze._

She has no idea how Nicole got out of the car without waking everyone else, because when she pushes her sister’s seat forward to squeeze past she cops an earful of grumpy, half-asleep cursing.

It’s cooler and less humid outside, everything washed clean by the storm the night before, but there’s no sign of Nicole. She experiences a brief moment of panic. She wouldn’t leave them, would she?

Then she spots a familiar pair of sneakers poking out from behind a boulder on the summit of the nearest hill.

Nicole doesn’t respond when she approaches and Waverly wonders if she’s fallen asleep, wonders if she maybe spent the whole night out here in the desert with the coyotes like some wild thing. When she draws closer, though, she realizes that the redhead has her eyes closed and her earbuds in, listening to music.

Waverly plonks herself down in Nicole’s lap, removing her earbuds and pressing a wet kiss to her cheek. “Morning baby.”

She revels in the way Nicole’s look of startled alarm quickly gives way to one of dimpled, adoring delight.

“Waverly.” _Oh gosh_ , the way Nicole says her name. Those three drawn out syllables, each one precious on her tongue, that lilt at the end. She’ll never get sick of it.

Nicole cups her cheek. She leans down and rubs her nose against Waverly’s nose, eskimo style, the barest of touches, and it’s the sweetest thing.

“How long have you been up here for Nicole?”

“A few hours I think. I watched the sunrise.”

_A few hours?!_

Waverly brushes at the dark smudges under Nicole’s eyes with her thumb, concerned. Does she ever sleep? “You could’ve woken me.”

“No, you needed your rest.”

_But you don’t?_

Nicole picks a wildflower from the ground beside them, a fire-engine red delicate thing that looks like a peony but isn’t. Waverly marvels that something so fragile could thrive in this brutal, arid place. Nicole tucks it behind Waverly’s ear with gentle fingers.

“A flower a day, every day,” Nicole husks, looking down at her shyly through long lashes, brown eyes soft. Waverly is smitten with this version of Nicole; the sappy, romantic cowgirl who wants to sweep her off her feet with sweet nothings.

Her eyes drop to Nicole’s lips and she feels that hot, hungry thing awaken inside of her again. She’s almost afraid to kiss Nicole now because of it, she’s not sure where it would end.

Nicole’s gaze grows serious. “There’s no hurry you know Waves,” she says, reading her like a book, as usual. “We don’t need to do anything you’re not ready for.”

 _Well shoot._ She thought that phone incident last night might worry Nicole. Fricken’ Wynonna, why couldn’t she Google bears on her own goddamned phone? Talk about embarrassing.

“I’m ready baby. Trust me, I’m ready. We’ve already wasted so much time. Years.”

The redhead does a startled double-take. “Years? As in plural years? Waverly how long exactly have you…”

“Liked you Nicole?”

The redhead nods, seemingly too shy to ask the question out loud.

Waverly cocks her head to one side, recollecting. “Since I was sixteen, maybe? Around the time Wynonna did her second stint. But probably before that.”

“Oh,” Nicole says, something shifting in her eyes. “I-I thought it was newer than that.” She breaks into a dopey grin. “Chrissy’s right, we really are idiots.”

Waverly beams back at Nicole. “Yeah we are.” She takes Nicole’s hand and kisses the back of each finger in turn. “And you?”

“I told you at Ruby’s. From the first time I saw you Waverly, I belonged to you.”

The way Nicole says that, so unequivocal, with the emphasis on _belong_ , it does things to Waverly. Things that make her wish that they were truly alone.

Waverly’s mind drifts back then to the moment they met: Nicole coltish, still growing into her lean frame, on their couch sharing one of Curtis’s beers with Wynonna. Both of them far too young to drink, but playing at being badass. Nicole is the first friend Wynonna has ever brought home. There’s a badly applied band-aid on Nicole’s cheek and they tell her about the fight, and even though she’s pretending not to be, Waverly can tell Wynonna is impressed by Nicole.

For her part Waverly is charmed by the redhead’s Texan drawl and her soft manners. But most of all by her kindness.

Memories are strange, they can be tender in a way that didn’t exist when it happened. Yet Waverly is sure that she knew in that moment — as Wynonna probably did — that this person was going to be important to her.

“Wynonna’s going to ask me that too,” Nicole says in a worried voice.

“Huh?” Waverly snaps back to reality.

“I’ve been thinking about it all morning. She’s going to ask me how long. If it was recent it might be okay. But when she finds out how long I’ve kept this from her…” Nicole closes her eyes and flinches, like she’s imagining being struck. “I can’t lie to her, but I can’t lose her. I-I _love_ her Waves.”

Something knots in Waverly’s gut, and it’s stupid because Nicole doesn’t mean it _like that._

“Hey, it’s going to be okay Nic—”

Nicole’s phone vibrates on the ground next to them. The screen lights up and a name appears.

_Shae Pressman._

Waverly frowns. That’s unexpected. “You two are texting again?”

“Just this morning.” Nicole rubs the back of her neck nervously. “It’s nothing. We have tickets to see Arcade Fire at the Saddledome in September. She wants to know if she can sell mine.”

Another message lights up the screen.

Nicole shoots Waverly a troubled glance. “I don’t have to answer these.” She slides the phone into her pocket. “She’s being chatty now. It’s kinda weird actually…”

Waverly reaches for Nicole’s wrist. “No, baby it’s fine. I’m not like _her_. You can talk to anyone you like. I was just surprised.”

She refuses to be _that_ sort of girlfriend. Not after what Shae put Nicole through.

Still, she can’t shake a vague sense of disquiet.

///

There’s a buzz to Las Vegas that Waverly cannot deny.

It’s the biggest city she’s ever been to and it’s also the brightest; a neon Disneyland that glitters and dazzles them all as they cruise down the Las Vegas Strip with the top down later that night.

Wynonna has found her nirvana. Between the endless sea of 24/7 pleasure palaces, the cannabis dispensaries and the string of all-you-can-eat Mexican buffets this place was made for her sister.

But all Waverly can think about is slipping into a real bed. And not even for sexy times with Nicole. No, after a day of sight-seeing in the Great Basin Desert and them getting lost a new record five times all she wants to do is shower and sleep.

They take a room at one of the cheaper hotel casinos on the Strip, a tired place that’s all 1980s decor and sticky carpet. She’s minded to hate it because Shae recommended it to Nicole in a text but the location is excellent and it’s a steal at the price.

After enjoying what might be the most satisfying shower of her life she returns to find Nicole already tucked in for the night. She’s reading a paperback, Jack Kerouac’s _On the Road_ , her brow furrowed adorably in concentration. It occurs to her that’s she’s never dated someone who actually reads books before.

Nicole looks up from her novel, brown eyes curious. “Why are you staring at me like that Waves?”

“It’s nothing. I’m just not used to…” Waverly gestures at the book, heat rising in her cheeks.

Nicole arches an amused brow. “What? Basic literacy? Is this because I play basketball? You know I’m not a dumb jock right?”

 _Oh boy_ , she’s really getting herself into trouble here. “No, I know that. I-I like it.”

“Well I’ll be sure to read books in front of you more often.” Nicole says, whisper quiet, because Wynonna is within earshot even if she’s immersed in watching an episode of Storage Wars with Chrissy.

Waverly slips under the crisp sheets and molds herself to Nicole’s warm body, nestling her head on her shoulder. “Read to me,” she begs, “I love the sound of your voice.”

So Nicole does, in a sweet, lilting cadence that has Waverly drifting off in no time. The last thing she catches is _nowhere to go but everywhere, keep rolling under the stars…_

And then it’s 3:04 a.m. and Waverly is staring at the clock, wondering why she’s suddenly wide awake. The answer arrives a second later when Nicole thrashes next to her, crying out. Waverly reaches for her. Nicole’s skin is clammy to the touch despite the room’s AC being more than effective against the stifling Vegas heat.

“Baby wake up,” she murmurs against Nicole’s ear after she gives another wild thrash. “You’re having a nightmare.”

Nicole’s eyes fly open. She looks startled and confused in the dim green glow of the clock light, like she doesn’t know who or where she is. “Huh?”

“You’re okay,” Waverly soothes, stroking damp hair away from Nicole’s forehead. “What were you dreaming about?”

Nicole rolls onto her side to face Waverly, consciousness returning, pulse still hammering hard in her throat. “My mother.”

_Oh._

“I dream about her a lot,” Nicole confesses. “Used to be I _wanted_ to dream about her. Now they’re always nightmares.”

Waverly stays quiet, afraid to say anything in case Nicole stops talking. Because Nicole Haught never speaks about her mother. Ever. She knows just two things about her: that she left Nicole and her father abruptly, and that she made the silver necklace Nicole never takes off.

“You know the worst thing about someone leaving forever?” Nicole muses in a sleepy, faraway voice. “It’s not those first few months, it’s later when you forget their face, forget what their voice sounds like, and you desperately want those things back, but you can’t get them back. They only come back in dreams, or nightmares…”

Waverly thinks about her own mother, who she has no memories of, just photographs. She thinks of her father, whose face and voice she’s not sure she wants to recollect.

“Do you think it’s possible to grieve for someone who isn’t dead Waves?”

Waverly runs the back of her fingers down Nicole’s cheek. “Of course baby.”

It’s like Waverly speaking breaks the spell, though, because Nicole shuts up shop then. She nuzzles into Waverly’s throat, pressing a hot kiss to the skin there, over her pulse point.

And holy wow it would be so fricken’ easy to just give into that, to lose herself in Nicole’s lips again. But she needs to get something out first.

“You can talk to me Nicole. About her. You don’t have to be strong all the time. You can lean on me. I’m strong too.”

_You’re allowed to be a little bit broken. Let me in._

“I know you are Waves, so strong,” Nicole whispers against her neck. “I will, I promise. But right now I’d much rather do this.” She maps a trail of soft kisses up Waverly’s throat before claiming her mouth in a delicate kiss that rapidly intensifies into something more like a raging forest fire.

 _That’s so not playing fair._ Yet she’s helpless to resist.

When Nicole moves on top of her, allowing the full, delicious weight of her lean frame to cover Waverly, to press her down into the mattress as they kiss, things shift from heated to incandescent and all thought ceases.

Until Chrissy lets rip a loud whinnying snort from across the room, startling both of them.

_Fudgenuggets, that’s right, there are other people in here._

But they must be insane because a second later Waverly finds Nicole lips again, and Nicole’s bare thigh slips between Waverly’s legs, making a home there, and Nicole’s using that thigh to do things Waverly didn’t know was possible, and then a moan escapes…

A really, really loud moan.

_Shit._

They both freeze, listening in for any reaction from the other side of the room.

Amazingly, nothing. Thank goodness for Chrissy’s snoring and Wynonna’s earplugs.

The primal part of Waverly’s brain takes hold again and she rakes her nails down Nicole’s back, pulling the redhead impossibly close against her, desperate for contact, for friction…

“Waves we need to stop,” Nicole moans into her ear. “We’re gonna get caught. Your sister will literally skin me alive if she finds out this way.”

She must have lost leave of her senses because part of her is almost past caring about Wynonna, but she reigns it in. “You’re right. It’s just, I need…”

_Some sort of fricken’ release or I’m going to explode._

Nicole nips at her earlobe. “I know baby, me too.”

“Maybe we could…”

“…get another room?” Nicole finishes.

_Thank god for telepathy. And 24/7 hotel reception._

“Yeah that,” Waverly agrees.

“Let’s do it.”

Lust must have driven them temporarily insane, because it’s 4:00 a.m. and they’re about to go and pay a hundred bucks for a room they’ll have to check out of again in less than six hours.

But Waverly doesn’t care. Her stomach gives a pleasant flip of anticipation. This is finally happening.

///

“ _Another_ room ma’am? Aren’t you already checked into 501?” The oily haired, rat-faced front desk clerk at the hotel’s reception smarms.

Nicole clenches her jaw, her temper starting to fray. The clerk knows full well why they’re back here at four in the morning. But he’s enjoying the hell out of making them squirm.

Their intent is written all over them. They had to dress in the dark, after all. There are mirrors everywhere in this tacky-ass place and Nicole is hyper conscious of the fact that she’s wearing a lavender button down shirt — buttons all askew — over gym shorts and flip flops. She has sex hair and bruised lips to boot.

Beside her Waverly looks even more of a mess. She’s wearing a pink SAVE THE EARTH, IT’S THE ONLY PLANET WITH TACOS t-shirt Nicole’s never seen before and it’s so tiny it’s a miracle she even got it over her head. It looks spray-painted on.

“That’s right, but we’d like a second room please.”

“Is there something wrong with your current accommodation ma’am?” rat-face simpers, tapping away at his computer. “Something not to your liking perhaps? We’d be happy to move your _whole_ party.”

_Oh god no._

“Nope, it’s fine. We’d.just.like.a.second.room.please,” she grits out.

“Well it’s your lucky day ma’am because we have room 502 available, there’s even an adjoining door through to 501.”

_You’ve gotta be kidding me._

This guy’s trying real hard to yank her chain.

Nicole scowls at him. “Thanks but no thanks. We’ll take something on a higher floor.”

Rat-face taps away. “Well, I’m afraid all we have left is 1204. That’s a suite, though. Two hundred dollars a night plus taxes.”

_Two hundred dollars! Jesus H Christ is the universe conspiring to prevent her ever having sex again?_

“We’ll take it,” she says flatly, slapping her credit card down on the desk.

///

“Wow, the view up here is stellar,” Nicole muses.

She’s drinking Las Vegas in through the floor-to-ceiling window of their new suite, a wall of glass that runs the entire length of the room.

The Strip is sprawled out beneath them, a glitzy, gaudy neon wonderland of sin. From here she can just about make out the mini-Eiffel tower of Paris, Las Vegas and closer in the iconic fountains of the Bellagio. There’s a rooftop nightclub in the building adjacent to them pumping out frenzied EDM, the bass so bruising that when she touches the glass she can feel it thrumming in time.

Maybe Las Vegas, not New York, is the true city that never sleeps.

Waverly doesn’t reply and when Nicole tears herself away from the view she finds the brunette’s gaze fixed on her.

Waverly’s eyes are hurricanes, a riot of swirling emotions. Desire, fear, anxiety…

Nicole steps into Waverly’s space, slipping an arm around her waist and cupping a hand to her cheek. “Is everything okay Waves?”

Waverly leans into Nicole’s touch, her lashes fluttering. “I’m freaking out Nicole,” she confesses, voice brittle. “What if I suck at this? What if me sucking ruins everything? You’ve been with other girls, older, more experienced girls like Shae andwhatif—”

“Hey now, don’t do that,” Nicole cuts into Waverly’s rambling, pressing a finger to her lips to shush her.  
  
She should have seen this coming. This self-doubt, these insecurities, the need to compare and be perfect, they’re always there for Waverly, lurking just beneath the surface. Nicole wishes that she could banish them, could somehow convince Waverly of how extraordinary she is so that she never doubted herself again.

“The past doesn’t matter, those other girls don’t matter. It’s different with you Waverly. You’re special.”

The truth is, every other mouth she’s ever kissed, every other body she’s ever undressed, they were just practice, preparing Nicole for the real thing: Waverly.

“And you can’t ruin anything baby, because it’s already perfect, no matter what we do or don’t do next. We could sit on that couch there,” Nicole points to the tan leather loveseat facing the full-length-window, “and watch the sun rise over this crazy city and that would be perfect to me, because it would be with you.”

Waverly blinks at her adoringly, before breaking into a bright smile. “You’re a fricken’ cheeseball Nicole Haught, you know that right? We paid two hundred bucks for this room and you just wanna watch the sunrise?”

“I’d pay a million dollars to watch a sunrise with you Waverly Earp,” Nicole teases.

“Oh my god, stop it.” Waverly beams and steps Nicole backwards until her calves are pressed against the loveseat. She tips her over the edge with a gentle push and Nicole lands on her back with a soft _oof_. Waverly climbs on top of her. “I don’t want to watch the sunrise Nicole,” Waverly says, voice like gravel. Her eyes darken with desire and her nails dig into Nicole’s shoulders as she presses her down. “I want you.”

And then Waverly’s kissing a fiery trail up her neck and it feels like the start of forever.

“So those other girls didn’t mean anything, huh?” Waverly breathes against Nicole’s throat, her hot mouth finding the tender place she marked the day before and worrying at it.

“That’s right baby. You’re only the girl I’ve ever truly wanted,” she vows, meaning it.

Waverly gives a little moan and nips at her skin, doubling-down on the bruise she’d already made there. It stings, god it stings, but when Waverly’s done it’s worth it to see the satisfied look in her eyes, the possessive mine written large all over her face.

If this is what Waverly needs, to leave a mark, to stamp her ownership, she will give it to her.

Waverly moves in for a proper kiss then, and at first it’s all lips barely brushing, breath against breath, but there’s a deep hunger burning between them and it rapidly escalates into tongues, teeth and lust. Waverly rocks her hips into Nicole’s and they get lost in a slow, steady grinding that feels like it goes on for hours but is probably a lot less.

Through the window behind them the sky starts to bleed from midnight blue to pink and Nicole catches a glimpse of the pale crescent moon, alien amongst the iridescent neon of the Vegas skyline.  
  
“Take me to bed Nicole,” Waverly gasps at last, sitting up on her elbows, her patience with grinding alone exhausted.

Nicole complies, deciding to take the brunette literally. She’s up in a flash, bending down to scoop a surprised and squeaking Waverly up into her arms.

Waverly nuzzles her neck as she carries her across the room. “Are you trying to make me swoon Nicole Haught?”

“That depends, is it working?”

She expects some sort of witty comeback but instead Waverly just whispers, “Yes.”

She sets Waverly down ever so gently at the foot of the bed, kneeling down in front of her, knees on the carpet. The bed behind them is huge, an ocean of starched white linen.

Waverly moves trembling hands to the buttons of Nicole’s shirt, her hazel eyes never straying from Nicole’s. There’s enough heat in that gaze to start a fire.

But taking off a shirt blind isn’t the easiest of things and Waverly’s fingers snag. “Dammit,” she curses. Impetuous as ever she decides to just yank the shirt apart, sending three buttons flying.

_Well okay then, who needs a shirt with buttons anyway?_

“Sorry,” Waverly squeaks, not looking it at all.

Waverly’s eyes rake down Nicole’s now exposed chest and midriff, charting a blazing trail. She extends tentative fingertips to the small square of gauze covering the cut Nicole sustained in Idaho. “Is it…does it…still hurt?” she asks in a worried voice. “W-will you be okay?”

Nicole closes her eyes for a beat, swallowing hard at Waverly’s touch there, at the way it tingles, something between pleasure and pain. “It’s fine Waves.”

Actually it still hurts like the bejesus, but she’s grown accustomed to the constant dull throb of it now.

When she opens her eyes again Waverly is already easing Nicole’s shirt off her shoulders. “You’re so fucking pretty Nicole,” she husks, rough and hungry. It shocks Nicole; the brunette so rarely curses like that.

And then Waverly’s mouth is on the delicate expanse of skin above Nicole’s breasts, and she’s sliding Nicole’s bra down before she’s even unclasped it at the back, moving her lips south to explore the swell of her breasts, and woah Waverly’s going from zero to a hundred in no time flat and things are feeling a little one sided here…

“Waves wait.” Nicole halts her progress. “I want to see you too.” She reaches for the hem of Waverly’s SAVE THE EARTH, IT’S THE ONLY PLANET WITH TACOS t-shirt but the danged thing may as well be glued on, she can’t get any purchase. “Um, baby, as much as I like this whole skintight tee thing you’ve got happening here, this is ridiculous. How the hell did you get this on?”

Waverly wriggles desperately, trying to tug it off herself. “Sheer force of will,” she grunts.

“I think we might need scissors,” Nicole teases, smirking. “Or teeth.”

Waverly’s eyes widen. “No! We can’t do that. Wynonna gave me this t-shirt.”

Wynonna’s name hangs heavily in the air between them for a beat before Waverly’s t-shirt finally unsticks. But just when it looks like she’s free her arms get comically tangled in the shirt above her head.

“Dammit I’m stuck, Nicole could you help me out here please?”

“Mmhm, just a sec baby.” This is too good of an opportunity to resist. She brings her mouth to Waverly’s neck, kissing a wet, languid path down her chest until she reaches the brunette’s cleavage, losing herself completely in silky softness and the faint scent of strawberry body wash. She unclasps Waverly’s bra. And then she really gets lost…

“Nicole—” Waverly whines, but it morphs into a wanton moan.

Finally, once she’s done getting closely acquainted with a part of Waverly she’s long fantasized about she slides the ridiculous t-shirt up and over her arms.

Nicole half expects a now bare-chested Waverly to be a little huffy at her for taking advantage but instead her cheeks are flushed and her eyes bright. The scorching look she casts Nicole is clear as day: enough messing around, it’s time to get down to business.

So Nicole eases Waverly down onto the bed, sliding the two of them further up the mattress until Waverly’s head meets a pillow, her hair haloing behind her. Nicole allows her full weight to sink down onto the brunette then, covering Waverly’s body with hers, their bare chests meeting. God the heat of Waverly, the softness. It’s almost too much.

Nicole threads her fingers in Waverly’s hair and they kiss; a shy kiss full of anticipation that’s about as nervous as any they’ve managed so far. Nicole’s heart is pounding so hard it feels like it’s trying to make it’s way right out of her chest. She wonders if Waverly can feel it against her skin.

She props herself up on an elbow and gazes down at Waverly, into those hazel eyes that are now brimming with vulnerability. This close up she can make out the faint smattering of freckles that dust Waverly’s sunkissed cheeks. She places the ghost of a kiss against her forehead.

“You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen Waverly Earp.”

Waverly’s lashes flutter as she blinks up at her, a little dazed, her cheeks darkening further. But the vulnerability fades.

Nicole reaches down then between the crush of their bodies to pop the button and work the zipper down on Waverly’s jeans. She holds her hand in check though.

“Are you sure about this Waves?” Nicole asks, her voice serious. She glances down at her, trying her best to convey _you’re safe, I’m here, I adore you_ no matter the answer.

“God yes Nicole, please.”

Nicole’s breath hitches. Okay then.

She begins working her way down Waverly’s body, plying tender open-mouthed kisses to the long column of her throat, to her collarbone, to the silky smooth expanse of her chest. She hovers over Waverly’s heart, amazed to see it visibly fluttering there. So, so fast.

She once read that a hummingbird’s heart beats twelve hundred times per minute and she thinks that there is something of the hummingbird about Waverly: something intense and impossible, something that must be protected and worshiped, but never possessed, never caged.

Nicole continues her journey downward, mapping the ridges of Waverly’s ribcage and the flat planes of her belly with her tongue and hands, the brunette writhing underneath her, John Mayer’s _Your Body is a Wonderland_ playing somewhere in the deep recesses of her mind.

And then she’s at the waistband of Waverly’s jeans and she’s shimmying them down her gorgeous legs, oh so slowly, and it feels like a religious experience.

Nicole reverently parts Waverly’s legs and settles her weight between them. She kisses a wildfire up the inside of Waverly’s thighs in turn, taking her time, stopping to scrape her teeth here and there, enjoying the small shudders and low moans Waverly imparts with every nip or kiss.

She stalls at the apex of Waverly thighs. She’s wanted this so damned long, the chance to taste Waverly, to know this part of her.

Waverly rolls her hips, impatient. “Nicole, please…”

_Always in a hurry…_

Nicole slides Waverly’s panties down off of her hipbones and over her thighs, pushing herself up on her biceps to run them underneath her own body, eventually toeing them aside. She takes the opportunity to kick off her own shorts at the same time.

Then she’s back and making a first slow pass where Waverly wants her, parting her and sweeping a languorous tongue through Waverly’s wetness. She tastes a little of honey, a little of the sea. And then Nicole’s delving deeper, hungry, losing herself completely in this intoxicating place.

Waverly is moaning, her hands knotting in Nicole’s hair, and wow is she loud. Every lick, every flick causes her to surge hard against Nicole. She gets to the edge too quickly and Nicole has to pull away because this is not how she wants to finish things the first time.

“Jesus Nicole,” Waverly groans, propping herself up on her elbows and looking down at her, adorably cross. “Why the fricken’ hell did you stop?”

Nicole remains silent. She kisses her way back up Waverly’s body, stopping along the way to pay homage to Waverly’s breasts again. Then she’s nose-to-nose with a very frustrated Waverly Earp. “I’ve got you baby,” Nicole husks. “Hang tight.”

Nicole slides her hand down between them until her fingertips are pressed against that now familiar wet warmth, poised.

“Oh,” Waverly sighs out, understanding.

She pushes up into Nicole, kissing her messily, sucking her lower lip into her mouth. At the same moment Nicole slides two fingers deep, deep into Waverly’s exquisite heat. Waverly whimpers, her eyes fluttering closed as Nicole begins to find a slow, steady rhythm, the heel of her hand pressing into Waverly’s center.

And then there are no words, no thoughts. There’s only smooth, smooth sensation and the soft sounds of sweat-slicked bodies moving against each other and of the giant bed creaking under them as Waverly rocks her hips in time to meet each of Nicole’s thrusts.

She tries, oh how she tries to keep things gentle. But soon they’re kissing fast, hard, and frantic and Waverly is urging Nicole to delve deeper and harder with her thrusts, her nails clawing into her, leaving tally marks in her back as she begs for release.

Nicole had wanted this to be like making love in the movies. That slow, perfect rhapsody of bodies. But this isn’t movie sex, this is rough and honest and messy. Maybe sex is always part animal, even when it’s love making, maybe especially when it’s love making, because she’s realizing now that there just might be some desperation, some violence to her love.

And despite what she was thinking earlier there is also a part of her in this moment, with her hand held deep inside her, her fingers curled just so, that wants to take possession of Waverly, that wants to ruin her for anyone else. To make Waverly hers, and hers alone, forever. She buries her face in Waverly’s neck, moaning against her, exasperated with herself, with the way her body is betraying her mind.

She gives herself over to it anyway, changing the angle of her hand to claim Waverly, going even deeper, finding that spot that makes Waverly writhe the hardest and moan the loudest. “I wish you’d been my first time,” Nicole husks, eyes now locked back on Waverly. “I wish you’d been my only time.”

Waverly makes a soft, helpless sound and her brow furrows in concentration as she draws close to tipping over the edge.

_I want to have everything with you._

_I love you._

Waverly lets go, clenching and then fluttering exquisitely around Nicole’s fingers as a sweet spasm runs through her. Her head tips back, her full lips part and she gives a low, wanton moan as she gives herself over completely to the moment, uninhibited in a way Nicole’s never seen her before. It’s intimate and precious and Nicole tries to sear the image into her memory.

Exhausted then, she allows herself to collapse over Waverly. She withdraws her hand and Waverly whimpers at the loss.

She kisses Waverly’s flushed cheeks, tasting salt, and brushes some damp hair back from her forehead.

Waverly’s eyes are heavy with lassitude, dulled by sex. “Nicole, I…” For a fleeting moment she thinks Waverly’s going to say those three words, that she feels them too. “I…I didn’t know it could be like that.”

_Well that’s something._

“It can be even better than that Waves, I promise.”

Waverly smiles at her, a giddy, bee-that’s-drunk-on-a-flower sort of smile. “I want to make you feel like this too. But I need a few minutes. I’m not gonna be able to move for a while.”

They spoon, Waverly sighing contentedly in Nicole’s arms, both of them ignoring the heat, the sweat, the salt; needing to keep this connection between them. Nicole wants to lie here for days with Waverly. To hold her so long that loving her becomes muscle memory.

A sliver of white hot sunlight spills through the window onto the bed then, dazzling Nicole.

She has her sunrise after all.

///

Nicole jolts awake to the sound of heavy knocking.

“Housekeeping!”

She squints tired eyes at the bed-side clock. 11:00 a.m. _Well shit._

Beside her Waverly is a vision; her smoking hot body all tangled up in rumpled bed sheets, her honey-brown hair splayed out around her. She looks blissed out, even smiling a little in her sleep.

Still, she has to wake her. “Waves baby…” She shakes Waverly’s shoulder gently, rousing her.

“Mmm? Wassup?” Waverly blinks, her lashes fluttering. Her gaze connects with Nicole and her expression cycles from confused, through adoring, to hungry.

“We’ve gotta jet, it’s an hour past check-out.”

The knocking rings out again, impatient now, reinforcing her point.

“Just a minute,” Nicole shouts and then they’re out of bed and flying around the room trying to reassemble their already mismatched outfits.

Ten minutes later they’re riding the elevator back up from reception to room 501. Waverly has Nicole pinned up against the elevator wall and they’re making out like idiots. Really badly dressed idiots with missing buttons and sex hair.

Things are different today, there’s something flushed, flowered and buzzing between them. And it’s like someone planted magnets in their bones overnight, the way their bodies are drawn to each other, this need to constantly reach out and touch.

They clasp hands one last time before the elevator doors open and Nicole knows then that love isn’t about sex at all, it’s about moments like these, on mornings like this, when you get to hold someone’s heartbeat in your hand.

When they get to 501 they have to knock, in their lust-crazed 4:00 a.m. haste they’d left without a room card. Nicole wonders what she’ll do if Wynonna and Chrissy are out. Will she have to spend the day in a shirt missing a third of its buttons?

But the door swings open and Wynonna is there, a donut in one hand, glaring at them.

“Where the fuck have you two been all morning?” She does a double-take when she registers the state of their appearance. “Did you hit up a bordello? Without me?” Her eyes narrow and she squints at Nicole’s neck. “Is that a _hickey_ Haughtdamn?”

 _Uh-oh._ Nicole’s hand goes to her neck. They probably should have thought this through a little better.

“Um—”

Wynonna waves a dismissive hand. “Eh, we’ll talk about this later. Right now you’ve got bigger fish Haught.”

_Huh?_

Wynonna’s expression turns dark and she opens the door wide, gesturing inside. “You have a visitor.”

And this might just be the most exquisitely awful moment of her life, because standing there in their hotel room, in one of her expensive summer dresses and Louboutins, is Shae Pressman.

_Oh no._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mwahahaha, you didn’t think I’d just let them be happy did you? 
> 
> Yeah, sorry for the melodrama at the end there. The next chapter’s going to be a little telenovela with Shae causing some havoc, although it won’t be too bad, I promise. The Wynonna reveal is coming as well next time, so hang tight.
> 
> This chapter was meant to be a sweet little interlude but it got looong again, I hope it wasn’t a drag to read. My chapters keep growing, I’m concerned that by the time I get to the last one it’s going to be like 30K! I’d appreciate some feedback on whether I should break these up, I almost feel like I should have split this one and released the first half a week ago, but I start with a finishing point in mind and like to get there no matter the words.
> 
> I hope the smut in this one wasn’t a train wreck. I wrote it when I was half asleep and it’s only the second sex scene I’ve ever tried to write, the first was years ago and basic. I’m not sure it’s my thing, but I tried guys, I tried…I think I stayed within an M rating? Barely? I dunno.
> 
> I also hope at this point I’ve effectively conveyed that Waverly and Nicole are at different places in terms of understanding their feelings for each other. Nicole is very much consciously in love. Waverly is less in tune with her own feelings. She’s a ball of lust that hasn’t quite processed things yet.
> 
> Thank you all for the feedback last chapter, I appreciate it so much and it’s incredibly helpful. :) 
> 
> * There are no (real) bears in the Great Basin Desert  
> * I’ve cut down the total number of chapters for this fic, that’s because I’ve essentially been writing double chapters since Ch.2 and I’m covering more material than I’d originally planned in them. The main arc and the route plan are unaffected.


	6. Maybe a thief stole your heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waverly fears for her heart, Nicole receives a surprise offer, Chrissy reveals another hidden talent, and Wynonna sings up a storm and takes a dip before making a brutal discovery.
> 
> *Forgive the melodrama early on in this one, there's some lighter stuff in the middle and some grittier stuff at the end. Also, a warning for a little bit of sexual content towards the end.

**Day 6-7: Las Vegas (NV)**

 

> Now, I demand a love that is stupid and beautiful,  
>  like a pilot turning off her engines mid-flight  
>  to listen for rain on wings.
> 
> — Paige Lewis from “Pavlov was the Son of a Priest”

_  
This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening…_

There have probably been more awkward moments in Nicole’s life, she’s just having a hard time recollecting what they would be exactly.

Because having her ex-girlfriend, her new girlfriend of three days, and her new girlfriend’s oblivious and volatile sister together in a hotel room in Vegas seems like some rare and peculiar form of hell.

At least Chrissy’s getting some entertainment value out of it, watching on rapturously like she’d dearly love someone to pass the popcorn.

“Nicole, finally.” Shae strides across the room, smiling a dazzling, self-assured smile that once upon a time made her weak at the knees but right now has her feeling all sorts of queasy. She folds a dumbstruck Nicole into an awkward embrace, the familiar scent of her Gucci perfume thick in the air between them.

It’s the very same fragrance that Nicole bought Shae for her birthday back in May and that’s a sucker punch to the heart; a reminder of the world outside of this road trip bubble she’s been in the past six days, a reminder of how recently she was trying to convince herself that she could find a way to love this girl.

Nicole steps back, flinching, annoyed at herself for allowing the hug to happen at all. ”Why are you here Shae? Aren’t you supposed to be in the middle of your placement at Rockyview General?”

“I took a leave of absence,” Shae says, her dark eyes fixed intently on Nicole. “And as for why I’m here…” She glances around the room like she’s willing their audience of three to disappear. “I’d prefer to discuss that in private.”

Nicole chances a glance at Waverly for the first time then, off to her left. Uh-oh. Her fists are balled, her eyes are thunderstorms and she has that look about her again; the look of a deer about to scatter.

There’s no way this conversation with Shae is happening in private.

“Oh I don’t think so Pressman,” Wynonna pipes up from next to Nicole, brows knitted fiercely. “We’re not moving an inch unless Haught gives the says so.” She gets right up in Shae’s face, like she’s ready for a throw down. “Anyways, I thought a little girl from Kansas already dropped a house on you…”

Woah. Yeah, so her best friend _really_ doesn’t like Shae Pressman.

“You never were any good at minding your own business Wynonna,” Shae spits back.

The two of them eyeball each other; two fiery, strong personalities on the brink.

“Wynonna that’s enough,” Nicole warns, not wanting things between them to escalate further.

Nicole hates that Shae’s turned up unannounced like this, but she’s still the girl she just got out of a nine month relationship with, the girl Nicole ended things with awkwardly over the phone. Not exactly her classiest moment. She runs a stressed hand through her sex mussed hair. “Can you just tell me why you’re here Shae, please?”

Shae looks past Wynonna, like she doesn’t exist, her expression softening. “I’m here for you Nicole. I’m here for us. I’m here to fight for us. We need to talk sweetheart.”

_What? Oh god no._

“I told you on the phone—”

“’The fuck?” Wynonna cuts Nicole off, her gaze flitting back and forth between Nicole and Shae in alarm. “Please tell me this isn’t who you meant the other night at Ruby’s, Haught? Please tell me you’re not still hung up on the ice queen? Are you a freaking moron?”

“What? No—”

“Stay out of this Wynonna,” Shae hisses, glaring daggers at her best friend.

Waverly’s looking confused bordering on distraught right now, and Nicole just wants to take her hand and sprint the hell out of this goddamned room.

There are so many things she hasn’t said, things she hasn’t done right, to get here. She should have told Waverly she loved her last night; she should have told Wynonna about them so they didn’t have to stand awkwardly apart right now; she should have called Shae back when she hung up on her. She should have made _sure._

Shae sidesteps Wynonna to bring herself back within touching distance of Nicole. In her ex-girlfriend’s perfectly coiffed presence Nicole is suddenly very aware of her own disheveled, post-sex state.

Shae’s eyes flick to the bruise on Nicole’s neck, Waverly’s mark, and she gives a fleeting grimace. “We’ve been through too much to give up this easily Nicole. You and me, we’re not the sort of thing you can end over the phone.” She takes a card and pen out of her Chanel clutch and scribbles something on it, before handing it to Nicole. “I’ve made dinner reservations for us tonight. Please come. I’m not leaving until we talk properly.”

Shae brushes a stray strand of hair back behind Nicole’s ear. It’s too intimate, far too intimate, and Nicole shies away, conscious of Waverly’s eyes on them. “I mean it, I’m not leaving until we talk.”

And then she’s sauntering to the door, the hush of her footfalls the only sound in a pin drop silent room. She turns back to face Nicole at the last moment. “Oh and wear a dress. It’s an upmarket restaurant.”

The door swings closed behind her and Wynonna flips it the bird. “Adios black-hole-of-suckitude.” She folds her arms across her chest and looks pissed. “Can you believe the nerve of that stuck up Tuesday, crashing our road trip like this? I always knew that chick had stalker potential. I hope you’re not actually considering donning a frock and doing her bidding Haughtdamn?”

Nicole fingers the card. _7:30, The Eiffel Tower Restaurant_ is scrawled across it in Shae’s flowery cursive. “Um…”

In truth she owes Shae a full explanation. Which means telling her about Waverly, something that will be a lot easier in this sort of context, away from Wynonna. And if it’s the only way to get rid of her…

But it feels wrong, almost like a date. How can she possibly expect Waverly to be okay with that?

Waverly’s not okay with it, because even this brief moment of equivocation from Nicole has her rushing to the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind her with an almighty bang. A bang that causes the cheap print of the Bellagio fountains on the wall opposite Nicole to wobble and seesaw wildly.

“What crawled up her butt and died?” Wynonna asks, baffled at her sister’s sudden display of temper.

Chrissy and Nicole share a panicked glance.

The blonde shrugs. “Oh you know how grumpy Waves is before her morning cup of chai.”

“Huh, and I thought coffee withdrawals were bad. Maybe it’s time babygirl detoxed off that hippie shit if she’s gonna get rage blackouts.” Wynonna turns her attention to Nicole, her eyes narrowing. “So Haught, about that giant ass hickey on your neck…”

_Oh crap. Think of something, quick. Curling iron accident? Basketball to the neck? Viral marketing for a Twilight musical?_

But Chrissy’s got this. “Shouldn’t we get going Wynonna? That one hour bottomless tequila offer at the MGM Grand’s tables started ten minutes ago.” She taps her watch.

Tequila’s the magic word, as always. Second only to whiskey as a guaranteed get-out-jail-free-card with Wynonna.

“’The fuck, that started already? Lead the way Nedley junior, time’s a wastin’.”

Chrissy shepherds Wynonna out the door and Nicole mouths her a silent _thank you_ as she brushes past.

Once they’ve left she raps softly on the bathroom door. “Baby, can you let me in please? Your sister’s gone.”

The door flies open and Nicole is enveloped in a thick cloud of strawberry scented steam. When it disperses she’s eye-to-eye with an irate but gorgeous Waverly Earp. Fresh out of the shower, her long hair is dark and damp, her cheeks are flushed a deep pink and she’s clad only in a fluffy white towel.

She wants Waverly so badly in that moment, a tangible ache somewhere low. The night before has changed things, she realizes, has made her hungry for Waverly’s body in a way she’s not used to.

But there’s anguish and disappointment swirling in Waverly’s eyes, and assuaging that is the only thing that matters right now.

Nicole enters the bathroom and shuts the door behind her, resting her long frame up against it.

“I’m so, so sorry Waves. Sorry times infinity. I had no idea Shae would pull something like this.” Nicole rubs at the back of her neck, embarrassed. “I can’t believe she flew all the way down here without as much as texting to tell me. It’s nuts.”

Waverly won’t even look at her. She turns her back on Nicole and swipes at the misted up oval mirror, her hands fluttering, agitated. “Y-you’re going to do it, aren’t you? You’re going to have dinner with her?”

Nicole shoves off the door and steps in behind Waverly, so that they’re almost but not quite touching. “Not if you don’t want me to. But it might be the best way to get rid of her quickly.”

“Why is she even here Nicole?” Waverly asks, a crack in her voice, searching Nicole’s eyes in the mirror for answers she doesn’t have.

“I don’t know baby.” She can’t help herself then, she has to lay hands on Waverly. She claims her towel-clad waist and rests her chin on the brunette’s bare shoulder. Waverly doesn’t offer any resistance, sinking back into Nicole’s arms instead.

She lays a light kiss to Waverly’s exposed collarbone. “Shae hung up on me when I ended things for good back in Montana, before I had a chance to explain _why_ properly. I need to tell her about us. I need to be honest with her and own up to fact that I messed with her heart from the start. I owe her that much.”

It’s not fair, falling for someone who’s already in love with someone else, and that’s what Shae got lumped with.

Waverly’s countenance changes then, compassion and resignation in her gaze. “You don’t owe her anything Nic. Honestly, I think she’s just here to play fricken’ games. But if it’s what _you_ need.”

“Thank you, I’m gonna fix this Waves, I promise, I—”

Waverly spins in Nicole’s arms, turning to face her. She lays a finger to her lips. “Hush, I don’t want to talk about your stalkerish ex-girlfriend or fight about this anymore. Not after what we did earlier today.”

Nicole understands. This is not the way the day after the night they just had was supposed to go. Shae’s spontaneous arrival ruined their afterglow and Waverly wants it back.

She nods her acquiescence, swallowing hard as Waverly carefully cradles her face in both hands. Then Waverly’s up on her tippy toes, leaning in, capturing her lips and Nicole’s lost again in that sweet, addictive oblivion.

Nicole’s always considered herself smooth enough when it comes to girls. Confident, usually in charge, not easily flustered. But she’s starting to think all that self-possession is a self-delusion, because against Waverly’s perfect lips she is a boneless thing, effortlessly dismantled by the barest brush of her tongue.

“You’re good at that,” Nicole praises when they draw apart, and Waverly makes a pleased sound. She wonders how and when Waverly learned to kiss like this. Then she realizes she doesn’t want to know, doesn’t ever want to think about Waverly doing this with anybody else, especially Champ-the-Chump Hardy.

Waverly comes back for more. This time she nips hard at Nicole’s bottom lip before soothing it tenderly with her tongue. It’s an exquisite mix of pleasure and pain and Nicole can’t help the noise it elicits from her: a low moan, amplified by the bathroom’s confined acoustics. She’s glad that they’re alone.

Except that they aren’t alone.

“Holy shit are you pleasuring yourself in there Haught?” Wynonna’s voice booms out from the other side of the bathroom door.

_What the freaking hell? When did she get back in here?_

“Uh…”

“Oh my god you are, aren’t you?” Wynonna exclaims. “Gross. We’ve all gotta use those facilities you know. At least turn the ventilation fan on afterward, so we don’t have to smell your funk.”

_Yikes, this is embarrassing._

Waverly’s giggling into her chest now. If she’s not careful she’s going to give them away.

“What are you doing back here Wynonna?”  
  
“I left my fake ID behind, those fascist jack-holes on the gaming floor won’t serve me without it.”

Waverly decides to ratchet the awkwardness up another notch then. She plants a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the underside of Nicole’s jaw, sliding her hands under the hem of Nicole’s shirt at the same time to cop a feel.

That spot under her jaw is super sensitive, and Waverly knows it. Nicole moans again.

“Holy fuck are you still going at it while I talk to you Haught? This is weird man, like we’re having phone sex or something. I’m leaving now. But you really need to get laid dude, you’ve obs got some serious pent up sexual energy.”

“I’m working on it,” Nicole replies, a high, breathless quality to her voice as Waverly continues her sweet torture.

The main door clicks softly closed and Wynonna is gone. _Thank god._

“Oh, you are in so much trouble for that Waverly Earp.”

“Nuh-uh, I don’t think so.” Waverly beams up at her smugly. “See, you’re overdue a shower.” She taps Nicole’s nose before reaching down to pop the remaining buttons on Nicole’s shirt. “And I might just be able to help you out in there.” She eases the shirt down Nicole’s shoulders and fingers her bra.

“Well, when you put it like that…”

///

Time doesn’t exist on the floor of a casino. There are no windows, no clocks. It could be midnight or noon, it’s impossible to tell, and that is by careful design; a clever trick to lull patrons into gambling the entire day away.

But Waverly knows exactly what time it is, because she keeps obsessively eying her phone like it’s a stopwatch and she’s running a marathon.

She knows that it’s thirty three minutes since Nicole left her side to meet Shae fricken’ Pressman for dinner at the restaurant TripAdvisor ranks as the third most romantic in Las Vegas.

In that thirty three minutes she’s gone from being up almost five hundred bucks on the day to only three fifty. She’s lost every single goddamned hand of blackjack she’s played since Nicole kissed her apologetically on the cheek and sauntered away in a slinky black dress that showed far too much leg for Waverly’s liking. Couldn’t she have worn a sack?

_It’s going to be fine. She only went to get rid of Shae. She’s going to tell her about us._

The blue-vested dealer, a smiley blonde in her thirties, hits Waverly with her third card: a six of hearts.

Twenty two and bust.

Well shitsticks. That’s a seven hand losing streak. She’s playing purely on instinct now and her instincts suck, apparently. Her basic card counting technique from earlier just isn’t possible now that she’s fixating on Nicole and Shae.

“Hey Waves.” Chrissy squeezes her shoulder. “Maybe it’s time to take a break, yeah? How ‘bout you play wingwoman for me for a few hands?”

“I thought you said you’ve never played before Chris?”

Chrissy shrugs. “I’ve been watching you guys all day and I’m a whiz at math, so…”

That’s true, but her best friend is also more than a little tipsy. She’s lost count of the number of mojitos Chrissy has been plied with by eager waiters as they rotated through the MGM Grand, the Golden Nugget and now the Bellagio.

Still, maybe a mini-break will clear Waverly’s mind. And it’s not like Chrissy can do any worse than her…

They switch up positions. Standing now, Waverly’s gaze sweeps out across the casino floor, taking in the noise, the chaos, the pure impulse of it all.

She finds the Bellagio intimidating in its faux-Italian grandeur. Yet even its marble floors and renaissance styled ceilings can’t save it from the crass blue glow of the tinkling slot machines. There’s a vast army of geriatric zombies in tracksuits installed over there, feeding their Social Security checks through like they’re reverse ATMs.

She wonders how Wynonna is making out. An hour ago she disappeared into a private no limits Hold’em poker room with a bunch of paunchy middle-aged men in black suits; knowing her sister she’ll end up on the wrong side of a mob boss and they’ll be hightailing it out of town before the night is done.

Chrissy gets dealt a blackjack on her first hand and Waverly offers her a high five. _Beginner’s luck…_

Raking in her winnings Chrissy looks up at her, a giddy, boozy look on her face, and asks in a too loud voice, “so when are you going to tell me how the _sex_ was?”

Waverly chokes on her iced tea. Everyone on their table including the dealer is now staring at her slack-jawed.

“Chrissy!” she hisses, mortified.

Her best friend just rolls her eyes and makes a “pah” motion with her hand. “Oh come on, you owe me the full deets after the lengths I went to in Salt Lake City to hook the two of you up.” At least her voice is lower now.

“What, you mean like getting trashed and falling asleep with your hands all over my half-naked crush?” Waverly scoffs, but she smiles down at her friend with affection.

Chrissy at least has the grace to blush at that. “Girl, you know that was an accident.” She nudges Waverly. “Come on, spill.”

The dealer stands soft on seventeen and Chrissy wins again with a jack and a nine of diamonds. Two in a row. _Huh._

“How do you even know that we…?” She trails off because _sex_ doesn’t quite feel right for what passed between Nicole and her last night; it’s too coarse.

Chrissy chuckles. “Are you freaking kidding me Waves? You two were AWOL this morning and you rolled in looking like you’d been trying out for the sex Olympics.”

_Okay, so they hadn’t exactly been subtle…_

Thinking about last night again has Waverly’s senses buzzing, her pulse dancing a waltz. She closes her eyes and for a moment she’s not on the gaudy floor of a casino anymore, she’s poised above Nicole watching her come apart with two fingers deep inside her. She recalls the sweet triumph of it, the newness, that unfamiliar rush of power. And then another image, earlier, their first time, Nicole’s gentle touch finally, finally giving way to the bruising desperation Waverly had craved.

“Holy wow,” Chrissy exclaims, side-eying her. “Based on the very non-PG faces you’re making right now I’m gonna assume it was amazeballs and leave it there.”

Waverly nods, her cheeks warm.

Chrissy gets dealt two nines on her next hand. She splits, hits a few times, stands at the right moment and beats the dealer again. _Huh, she’s a quick study…_

Another memory strikes Waverly, this one less recent and far less pleasant. It’s last Christmas and she’s doing her traditional evening drop by at the Haught’s. Bing Crosby’s _I’ll be home for Christmas_ is playing softly in the living room, where she finds Nicole and Shae dancing impossibly close by the glow of a dying fire. The smitten look on Nicole’s face as she gazes into Shae’s dark eyes is a knife to Waverly’s heart.

“Do you think it’s a mistake letting Nicole hang out with Shae alone?” Waverly asks then, finally giving voice to the fear that’s been preying on her all evening long.

Chrissy doesn’t respond immediately. She’s laser focused on the hand in front of her. She’s drawn a nine of spades this time, the dealer has a four of hearts. She doubles down, gets hit with an ace and beats the dealer yet again.

 _Well snap._ There’s a small mountain of chips piled high in front of Chrissy now.

“Honestly Waves,” Chrissy says, pushing her chips forward to make an even bigger wager on this next hand. “I’m not so sure. I get that Nicole wants to do the honorable thing and explain herself and all. But that Shae chick is a fox, and I don’t just mean she’s pretty. She’s a wily customer. I saw the way she eyeballed you when you rocked up with Nicole this morning.” Chrissy makes a throat-slitting gesture.

Okay, so that wasn’t the easy reassurance she’d been hoping for.

Maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t hurt to go and scope things out? Make sure Shae isn’t up to anything too nefarious?

“I wonder if there’s anywhere in here we can buy some big ass hats and dark glasses for under twenty bucks?” Waverly eyes the posh Hermès store across from them. _Nope, not there._

Chrissy rakes in her latest winnings and sighs. “Sweet jesus, we’re going stealth again aren’t we?”

Yes, yes they are.

///

Shae isn’t making this easy.

Nicole had a plan. Tell her ex-girlfriend about Waverly, apologize for being a reckless asshole with her heart, and be out of this swanky restaurant in Vegas’s faux-Eiffel Tower before the appetizer is even served.

But the appetizer is ancient history. She’s just finished up her main, a fillet of Pacific salmon that arrived looking more like a whacked out piece of abstract art than food, and they still haven’t talked properly.

Instead Shae’s kept up a non-stop monologue about her hospital placement, the love lives of their mutual friends back in Calgary, and a whitewater rafting trip in Banff she took last weekend. She’s acting as if they never broke up, reaching across the table periodically for Nicole’s hand, something she resists every time.

Nicole’s starting to get antsy, her leg dancing a jig under the stiff white tablecloth. She knows that every minute she’s still here is a minute that Waverly will be counting.

Shae seems nervous too. She’s speaking too quickly, rambling almost, and she keeps fidgeting with the salt and pepper shakers, rearranging them. It’s strange. She’s usually so put-together, the epitome of stone-cold calm.

Finally, Shae pauses her latest account of a paragliding trip in Rocky Rapids long enough to take a nervy gulp of white wine.

Nicole seizes her chance. “I’m not sure why you wanted to see me exactly Shae, what you expect from tonight,” she begins in a hesitant voice. “But there are some things I need to say, to apologize for. Waverly and I—”

“Nicole stop.” Shae holds up a hand. “Let me go first, please.”

Against her better judgment, ever the gentlewoman, Nicole waits.

Shae smooths the satin fabric of her strapless onyx-black dress, her dark eyes fixed on Nicole. “I know that you slept with her. That… _Waverly_.” Her voice catches on the name and she grimaces, like it tastes bitter in her mouth. “It was written all over the pair of you this morning.”

Nicole remains silent, stunned by Shae’s sudden bluntness.

“And I want you to know that it’s fine. We can get past that. I expected it.”

Nicole slow blinks twice, confused. “Y-you expected it?”

Shae leans across the table and brushes her thumb over the bruise on Nicole’s neck, still visible despite the copious application of concealer. Her lip curls in distaste and she mutters “how mature” under her breath.

Louder she says, “of course sweetheart. I’m not blind. I was aware of your little infatuation with her. You needed to get it out of your system on this trip, so I let you.” Shae shrugs. “We’ve all been there at some point. We’ve all had a childhood crush, an itch that has to be scratched before we’re ready for the real thing.”

 _Huh?_ Nicole’s head spins. She rubs furiously at her temples. “That doesn’t make any sense Shae. You were dead set against me going on this road trip with Waverly, that’s how we ended up on a break.”

“Well obviously I didn’t _want_ you to go. I didn’t _want_ you to have a summer fling with that…girl, but in the end maybe this was the only way. It’s not like it can last. You know that right? These things never do.”

_Summer fling? What the heck? Waverly isn’t a summer fling._

Nicole looks out across the glittering Vegas skyline, her head throbbing. Directly across from them is the Bellagio, lit up like a phosphorescent candy cane. Waverly is in there, right now, waiting for her. There’s nothing she wants more in this moment than to get up and run out of this room, run to Waverly. But she needs to finish this.

“Shae—”

But Shae’s not done talking. “You and me Nicole, we’re the real thing,” she implores, her gaze fierce. “That girl will never be _enough_ for someone like you. You don’t want the bookish girl-next-door. You want someone who lives on the edge, like you do, someone who’ll challenge you. I love you Nicole and I want to be that person.”

Nicole slumps back in her seat and takes a long sip of her white wine, desperate for salvation. It’s so sour on her tongue she almost spits it out again. It’s Chardonnay and she hates Chardonnay; it tastes like bear piss.

_Well I’ve got myself into a helluva mess here._

This is far from the first time Shae’s professed her love for Nicole. But she’s highly suspicious of her motives tonight.

Her ex-girlfriend is the sort of person that has to win at everything she does. Nicole fears this latest declaration is her competitive, possessive side coming to the fore yet again.

And clearly Shae doesn’t know the first thing about Waverly, or the depth of Nicole’s feelings for her, to say these things. Waverly might not be into extreme sports but in her own quiet way she’s the bravest person Nicole knows.

She’s about to explain that Waverly’s anything but a summer fling, that she’s in love with her and was before she even met Shae, when dessert arrives.

Their tuxedo clad waiter places a slice of chocolate torte crowned with an intricate spun sugar basket down in front of Nicole.

That’s odd. She doesn’t actually recall them ordering dessert.

Then her gaze catches on something sparkling within the basket…

There amongst the sweet, delicate wisps of caramelized sugar sits a ring; a band of white gold set with a large, princess cut diamond.

_She wouldn’t, would she? She isn’t, is she?_

Around them the usual clink and scrape of cutlery and the low hum of hushed conversation has drawn to an abrupt halt.

Nicole glances up. Shae’s chair is pushed back and she’s down on a bended knee, looking up at her expectantly.

_Oh shit, she is._

///

In the split second before the elevator doors open out onto the eleventh floor restaurant Waverly very nearly punches the button to whisk them straight back down again.

Because this is silly.

She trusts Nicole. No matter what grand plan Shae Pressman may or may not have cooked up, she knows in her heart that Nicole won’t succumb to it. Nicole is loyal, honorable, and has taken to looking at Waverly like the entire world starts and finishes right there in her.

But then the doors separate with a clunk to reveal a setting so ridiculously romantic that her legs are moving her forward anyway, like they’ve got a mind all of their own.

The long, thin space that Waverly and Chrissy step into oozes faux-Parisian chic. The room is a wash of muted mauves and red velvets and the tables are lit only by soft-gold candlelight. The air is thick with expensive perfume and the sweet, cloying scent of French desserts.

The real star, though, is Las Vegas’ nighttime skyline, sprawled out around them in all of its twinkling, sinful glory.

 _Well shoot._ Shae definitely has game, bringing Nicole to a place like this.

They don’t have a reservation so they’re seated at the bustling bar while they wait for something to become free.

It’s a good vantage point and it doesn’t take them long to locate Shae and Nicole. They’re situated at a window side table with the best view in the restaurant, easily the two most beautiful people in the room.

Waverly’s gaze darts back and forth between the two of them, her stomach roiling. In her sequined black dress and her hair in a classic updo Shae resembles a sinister Disney princess.

Shae’s coal eyes, fixed intensely on a nervous looking Nicole as they talk, are possessive, almost predatory.

Waverly clenches her jaw, fighting the near violent urge to march over there and yank the redhead out of Shae’s clutches.

_My Nicole, not yours._

Maybe Shae senses Waverly’s hostile vibe because her glance flicks briefly to the bar then. Waverly sinks lower in her seat, adjusting the angle of her wide-brimmed picture hat to better obscure her face.

They’d made a quick stop at a 24/7 thrift store on the way over here for hats, shades and some dresses that would pass muster at this place. Waverly’s not convinced by the final look on her, a sort of trashbag version of Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

“Sweet jesus this bigass hat is fugly,” Chrissy whines, preening in the mirror that runs the length of the bar. “And I can’t see shit in here through these glasses. But at least I’m not dressed as a rat this time. Small mercies.”

“Oh hush. You were a raccoon anyways. Or maybe a dog…”

“That’s _better_?”

Across the room Shae reaches for Nicole’s hand, but the redhead pulls away, lightening fast, like the contact burns. Triumph surges through Waverly.

_My Nicole, not yours._

A moment later a tuxedoed waiter arrives to escort them to a table that’s been freed up. It’s four spots down and a row behind Nicole and Shae, a perfect position to stealth from.

When they’re settled in their seats, a napkin folded in their laps and water poured for them, the waiter clears his throat and drops a bomb. “I’m sorry madams but we have a strict dress code here at the Eiffel Tower restaurant. I’m going to have to ask you both to remove your hats and sunglasses.”

Waverly’s stomach drops. _What the frick?_

The lighting is dim in here, sure, but Waverly’s facing Shae, if she has to lose her tacky Audrey Hepburn disguise she’ll be made within minutes. And then Nicole will see her, and she’ll think that she doesn’t trust her, and oh shitsticks what has she gone and done now…

Waverly’s teetering on the edge of a full-blown anxiety attack when Chrissy winks her way and mouths a silent _I’ve got this_.

Her best friend squares her shoulders and makes an affronted sniffing sound. “Well _excuuuse_ me. Do you have any idea who you’re talking to here?”

The waiter blinks at them, confused. “Er—”

Chrissy sniffs again. “I didn’t think so. This is Lizzie Olsen. _The_ Lizzie Olsen. Star of Avengers: Age of Ultron, the just released Avengers: Infinity War and younger sister to _the_ Olsen twins.”

_Lizzie Olsen? They’re impersonating celebrities now? Holy shitballs, this isn’t gonna end well._

The waiter does a double-take, squinting down at Waverly. “Oh, I see madam. I’m so sorry—”

“You should be man,” Chrissy chides, slipping effortlessly into a haughty, LA-girl persona. “You wouldn’t believe the extreme lengths we’ve had to go to to avoid the paparazzi in this bullshit city. Vegas is totes crawling with those bloodsuckers. Not to mention all the randos that want in with poor Lizzie here. I’m sure you can appreciate why we need to keep her presence tightly under wraps.”

The waiter, now beet red, gulps and ducks his head twice. “Of course madam, I completely understand. The Eiffel Tower restaurant is privileged to have Ms. Olsen’s patronage. We will do everything we can to ensure her privacy is respected. May I show you ladies the wine list now?”

Waverly bites her lip, desperately trying not to laugh. Her best friend sure is something in a pinch.

Once the frazzled waiter finally departs Waverly opens the menu and gets a shock. “Christ on a cracker, this place is nuts expensive. Do you think we can make a special request for celery sticks? Maybe I can pretend I’m on a celebrity diet…”

Trust Shae to take Nicole out to a restaurant that requires a fricken’ mortgage to fund a meal at.

Chrissy flips through the menu, brows raised. “Good thing I won us eight hundred bucks at the blackjack tables huh Waves?”

“Yeah well that might just about cover our appetizers,” she mutters darkly.

Waverly resumes her surveillance. She can’t make out Nicole’s face from this position but Shae’s gaze is more intense than ever now. She lays a thumb to Nicole’s neck, distaste contorting her elegant features. Waverly balls her fists. She can guess what that’s about.

How would Shae react if she could see all the other evidence Waverly has left of herself on Nicole’s body? The half-moons etched into her back, the teeth marks at her thighs. There is something savage about the way she responds to Nicole, the urge she has to _claim_ her. She was never like this with Champ. It scares her, shames her, even.

Shae is probably over there now feeding Nicole poison, making Waverly out to be some cheap, trashy strumpet. Reminding her of what her assured soon-to-be-a-doctor’s hands can do, of the more grownup form of love making they shared.

In the background Ella Fitzgerald is softly crooning _Let’s Do it, Let’s Fall in Love_ and Waverly sorely wants to yank the plug on whatever gadget is piping that shit out.

A waiter passes by Waverly and Chrissy then, bearing a gorgeous dessert cake with a diamond ring atop it.

_Someone’s popping the question tonight._

Impossibly, the waiter comes to a halt beside Shae and Nicole’s table, placing the dessert down in front of the redhead with a flourish and a congratulatory smile.  
  
_Shut.The.Front.Door. What?_

Then Shae’s down on one knee, proposing to Waverly’s girlfriend and the whole room draws silent around them, waiting with bated breath for Nicole’s reply.  
  
Time stands still and Waverly’s heart lurches.

_This…cannot be happening. There’s no fricken’ way this is happening…_

Waverly claws at the neckline of her dress, almost shredding it. She can’t breathe. She has to get out of here before she says or does something crazy. Or worse, hurls all over this fancy white tablecloth.

She stumbles backwards out of her seat and rushes headlong for the exit.

She rushes so fast and so blindly that she slams smack into a waiter, sending loaded plates flying to the floor with an almighty crash.

She wants to stay and apologize but she can’t. She’s running again, and she never, ever wants to stop.

///

Maybe Wynonna slipped some ‘shrooms into that tuna salad Nicole had for lunch? Yeah, that’s gotta be it…

“I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you Nicole Haught.”

Nicole blinks, squints, and blinks again. Nope, this is seriously happening. Shae Pressman is legit down on one knee, holding a flashy diamond ring out to her.

In the long, awkward pause that comes next, as an entire restaurant remains still, waiting on Nicole to say something, anything, her mind just gets lost in the wonder of it, that two people can read entirely different things into a relationship.

Because when Nicole looks at Shae now she just sees a mistake; a stranger she shares some common history with, who knows too many of her secrets.

She sucks in a long, steadying breath and manages to quash the urge she has to yell “are you out of your freaking mind” at Shae. However misguided this proposal is, whatever might be motivating it, nobody deserves that sort of brutal, public rejection.

Instead she leans forward, takes her ex-girlfriend by the wrist and gently entreats, “Get up Shae, please.”

The smash and tinkle of shattering china echoes through the restaurant then, as somewhere behind them a waiter drops his stack of plates. The noise and spectacle of it draws everyone’s attention away from Shae’s proposal, something for which Nicole is grateful.

Shae sulks back into her seat. “I’ll take that as a _no_ then,” she says, a wounded look in her dark eyes.

_God, where to start with this shitshow._

“I’m nineteen Shae. _Nineteen._ I’m not gettin’ married.” Nicole frowns, stabbing some chocolate torte with her fork. “We’re not even together. How could you think I’d want to go from that to being engaged?”

 _“I’ve_ never thought of us as broken up Nicole.” Shae toys with the stem of her wine glass, her gaze downcast. “I know I messed up last semester. That I was too paranoid, too controlling. But it was only because I loved you so much. I thought that a commitment like this,” she picks up the ring and turns it over in her fingers, “could help both of us out with that.”

Getting married seems like a really fucked up way to deal with that particular set of issues, but whatever…

“None of that matters anymore Shae.” Nicole takes a deep breath, steeling herself. Here goes nothing. “I came here tonight to tell you that Waverly and I are together now. Like _together, together_. Not a summer fling. I-I’m in love with her.”

It feels strange to say those words out loud to Shae before she has to Waverly, but it’s necessary; the only way to ensure her ex-girlfriend backs off.

Shae sits back in her chair, floored. “You can’t be serious Nicole.” She snorts. “You really think that you’re _in love_? With that _bumpkin_?” She takes a long gulp of wine and shakes her head in disbelief. “Jesus Christ.”

“Waverly’s not a—”

No, she’s not even going to dignify that with a response.

“Yes. I am,” Nicole vows, voice resolute. If there’s one thing she’s sure of it’s that she is desperately, completely, without pride, in love with Waverly Earp.

“I’ve been in love with her for as long as I can remember,” Nicole continues, relieved to finally get this off her chest. “And I’m so, so sorry that I began something with you on those terms. You deserve someone who could give their whole heart to you and that was never me.”

There. She can’t undo her mistakes, she can’t reverse time and unravel her recklessness, but at least she’s being honest with Shae, finally.

Shae’s expression hardens. Hurt gives way to something venomous in her eyes. “Does Wynonna know you’re fucking her precious little sister?”

Nicole’s stomach drops. “What? No, not yet—”

A shadow falls across the table. Nicole glances up to find a young woman in a wide brimmed hat and sunglasses that obscure most of her face looming over them. What a bizarre getup to wear indoors at night. _Only in Vegas._

“Can we help you?” Nicole snaps, frowning up at the woman. “We’re kinda in the middle of a whole marriage proposal fallout thing here.”

The woman whips off her sunglasses. “It’s me you idiot.”

Chrissy. _Oh god._

Nicole winces. “Please tell me you’re here on your own and that this isn’t a repeat of the fox and rat business?”

Chrissy glances down at her pityingly. “Girl, I wish I could. Waves saw everything and did her Usain Bolt act again. You need to go after her, stat.”

 _Shit._ Waverly reacted badly to Brooke kissing her on the cheek, how’s she going to handle a marriage proposal from her ex?

“I’ve gotta go now Shae,” Nicole says, standing so abruptly she almost kicks over her chair. “I’m sorry you came all the way down here and it didn’t work out the way you wanted. That I couldn’t be the girl you need.” She covers Shae’s hand with hers, one last time. “I hope you find her. I really do.”

And then she’s hightailing it to the elevator, not once looking back, Chrissy in tow.

“Is Wynonna still at the Bellagio?” Nicole demands. She hammers the down button over and over again, impatient for the elevator to get moving.

Chrissy nods. “I think so. She’s in that high roller Hold’em poker room.”

_Of course she is._

“Alright. You head back there and text me if Waves washes up with you guys,” she instructs. “I’ll check the hotel and wherever else I have to if she’s not there.”

Jesus, Waverly could be anywhere. The Las Vegas Strip isn’t Ruby’s house. It’s massive. There are endless places to hide and hundreds of thousands of people to get lost in out there.

 _Dammit Waverly. What if this one time you didn’t run? What if you stayed, what if you trusted in my feelings for you?_  
  
But that’s a lot to ask when Nicole hasn’t revealed the full extent of those feelings.

This time, when she finds her, and she _will_ find her, she’s going to tell Waverly that she loves her.

And maybe, just maybe, there’ll be no more running after that.

///

Ferris wheels are _a thing_ for Waverly.

Her special, secret place. Somewhere she goes to hurt, somewhere she goes to heal.

It all started when she was ten. On a hot, sticky August evening when Willa, just fourteen, came home with bourbon on her breath and their Daddy took his belt to her, the one with the bronco buckle, with a ferocity he never had before.

Wynonna and Waverly had ridden out the storm in the laundry closet, as was their way. For all of her universe-be-damned bravado, even ‘Nonna had been afraid of their Daddy back then. Once the shouts and slaps had abated they’d crept out into the fading evening light and stolen away on their bicycles.

A funfair had setup on the edge of Purgatory for the first time that summer. Wynonna had steered them there, desperate for some magic and joy, maybe, to set against the horror of what had come before.

Wynonna wanted to ride the Hurricane or the Scrambler but Waverly had been too scared. So they’d settled on the rickety old Ferris wheel. It was there, strapped in together in a swaying gondola, that Wynonna had taken her hand and promised her that soon everything would be different; that soon she’d be big enough to make their Daddy stop hurting them.

Five years on and things were different alright. Daddy was long dead, Willa had skipped town, and Wynonna was three days into her first stint in juvenile detention. Waverly was left alone, her heart an open wound, grieving her sister’s bad decisions.

Waverly wasn’t allowed to be sad, though. Everyone in Purgatory expected her to be the peppy, chipper girl with a smile like sunshine, the one Earp that had made good. So she bottled her pain, kept it close, kept on smiling.

The funfair was back in town that summer. One night, for the first time since she was ten, she turned up at dusk, alone, and rode that very same Ferris wheel. At the zenith she finally let herself come apart, crying an ocean in the sky for her sister, for all the people who had left her.

It became a cathartic ritual. She came back for an hour every day that week, and then every year, until this year.

So here she is now, riding Las Vegas’ blinged out version of a Ferris wheel, the High Roller, crying an ocean in the sky again.

This time over Nicole.  
  
She scrubs at her wet cheeks and draws a ragged breath. Outside, the city slips smoothly by, a mess of inky black and hazy neon through her tear-soaked vision.

Goddammit this hurts. Her chest feels like a crime scene, like someone’s gone and taken an AK-47 to her heart.

She understood the risks when she opened herself up to this thing with Nicole. She knew it could end badly. Still, she thought they’d get more time than _this_. More than just a few days of bliss before Shae fricken’ Pressman came swooping in.

_Maybe she’ll say no._

Nicole is sensible. She’s not the type to get hitched at nineteen. Yet whatever Nicole’s answer is, a deep connection must surely remain between them for Shae Pressman to propose at all.

And Waverly can’t compete with an exotically beautiful, twenty-four year old, almost-doctor who’s ready to commit for life. She just can’t.

How much has Nicole withheld from her before this? How many lies has she told her? Were Nicole and Shae ever really broken up? Was Waverly just a fling, or the rebound fuck Wynonna was so insistent that Nicole have?

Her mind circles endlessly on these questions as the High Roller does it’s own slow loop. She sits through three full thirty minute rotations. Each time the ride terminates the doors open and a different set of revellers join her pod. Most steer clear of the sad girl in the weird outfit, but the odd kind soul offers a comforting hand.

Heartbreak is routine in Vegas, as commonplace as glitter and regrettable behavior.

It’s the start of her fourth go-around. This time she hears only one set of footfalls before the pod’s doors hum closed. _Strange, maybe it’s getting quieter out there._

She keeps her gaze fixed on the night sky, consumed by her pain, disinterested in the newcomer.

“Waverly.”

Her head snaps up at the sound of that oh so familiar, lilting drawl. Nicole Haught is standing before her, sucking in deep lungfuls of air in her slinky black dress, some wild strands of red hair plastered to her damp forehead, relief written all over her beautiful features.

In spite of everything, in that moment she desperately wants to just throw herself into Nicole’s arms.

The truth slices through her then: _I wanted her to find me._

But it’s impossible. Vegas is huge and nobody knows about this thing she has for Ferris wheels, not even Wynonna.

“How…?”

“I kinda bribed the attendant to let only me on, so we could be alone.” Nicole grins, misunderstanding her.

“No, I mean how did you know where I’d be?”

Nicole crosses to where Waverly’s sitting and kneels before her. It’s too close, too much. She wants to move away but her treacherous body won’t obey. “I told you in Montana, Waverly,” Nicole says, easing a cautious hand up Waverly’s thigh. “I know a lotta things about you.”

Waverly’s leg jerks at the contact. Nicole’s touch is like fire, even through the cotton of her dress. Always like fire. “How could you, though? Nobody knows about this.”

“The first time she went away, Wynonna asked me to keep a close eye on you,” Nicole explains, voice soft. “To look out for you. So I saw you at that fair, and I know you kept going back, that it’s where you went when you needed to be alone.” She offers a crooked smile. “And er, to be honest, I kinda tried all the museums and the Bellagio conservatory first. I’ve been searchin’ for you for a while now.”

Nicole’s dogged determination and gentle patience threaten to splinter Waverly’s cold, hard anger.

But then, unbidden, the image of Shae down on one knee, proposing, flashes back into her mind and the bitterness returns.

_Nope. Nuh-uh. Fight, dammit. Don’t fall for her sweet talking Haught ways._

“Shouldn’t you be off getting hitched in some sleazy chapel by an Elvis impersonator right now?”

Nicole’s face falls. “Waverly—”  
  
“I hope you didn’t waste all this time tracking me down to ask me to be your bridesmaid,” she snipes, stone cold.

Nicole sighs. “Really Waves, we’re doing this?” She reaches for her hand, but Waverly yanks it away. The redhead frowns. “I’m not getting married baby. I’m nineteen for god’s sake. And how could you even think that, after everything that’s happened between us this week, after what we did last night?”

Relief washes over her. _So she said no. Thank god._

“I don’t know what to believe anymore. Was any of this real?”

Nicole’s brow furrows. “Of _course_ it’s real—”

“Then what the frickin’ hell is she doing here, down on one knee, proposing to you? Huh Nicole?” Waverly fumes, her fists clenched. She’s almost shouting now. “Explain how that’s possible, if you haven’t been lying to me.”

Nicole makes a soft, wounded noise. “I didn’t lie to you Waves,” she vows, voice thick with hurt. “I can’t explain what she did other than to say Shae plays to win, and that I underestimated the depth of her feelings. I’m so sorry you had to see that. I told her about us, though. It’s done now.” She tilts Waverly’s chin up so that their eyes are level. “I promise you.”

Drowning in those big, brown, puppy dog eyes Waverly feels her resolve begin to crumble.

_But why? Why would you choose me, when you could have her?_

“You don’t need to worry baby.” Nicole cups Waverly’s face in her hands, her gaze fierce. “I look at you, and I’m not kidding, I get these feelings that are so big in my chest. You’re so beautiful, inside and out, it just, it makes me ache. I could never want anyone else when I have you.”

Waverly’s heart begins to pound so hard then that it’s like thunder under her ribs.

“I adore every little piece of you Waverly. The way you ramble, the way your nose crinkles when you smile, the way you sing Taylor Swift songs under your breath, the way you’re always reading at least six books at once, everything.”

Their pod has almost reached the zenith; the TV in the background announces that they’re at five hundred feet. But Waverly is oblivious to the view. There is only Nicole, and her soft words.  
  
“You can keep running scared from this but I’m going to keep finding you, keep fighting for you. I’ll only ever stop if you ask me to.”

Nicole pauses to draw in a deep, shuddering breath. She looks petrified of what’s coming next. Waverly’s pulse quickens.

“Because I love you Waverly Earp. I am in love with you.” Nicole reaches for her then, so that their foreheads are pressed together and their noses just touch. “I have been for _so_ damned long,” she says, her voice low, a whisper-moan against Waverly’s lips. “It kind of terrifies me, how much I love you, and what I would do for you.”

Waverly blinks in wonder. “You l-l-love me?” she breathes back.

“I do,” Nicole husks. She trails trembling hands down past Waverly’s throat until her palms rest lightly against Waverly’s breastbone. “And I’m sorry if this too much, too soon for you. But I’m not sorry for loving you.”

_She loves me._

Waverly feels weightless, untethered.

She wants to hold onto this forever, this moment of pure elation that comes with knowing that someone as good, as kind, and as pretty as Nicole Haught could feel _that_ for her.

She’s awestruck by Nicole’s bravery; by her willingness to offer up her heart, to make herself so vulnerable to her. It’s beautiful and generous.

She wishes she could be that fearless, that unguarded. But she can’t be. Not yet. “Nicole, I…I…”

“It’s okay baby. You don’t need to say it back.” Nicole sits back on her haunches, her eyes tender. She takes Waverly’s hand and draws soothing circles on the inside of her wrist. “I just need you to know it. I need you to know that I’m not going anywhere, that I’m all in.”

_I believe you._

Waverly feels that unfamiliar wholeness again. Like Nicole’s love is gently pouring into all the cracks in her soul.

Unable to bear any space between them a second longer she knots her fists into the neckline of Nicole’s dress and tugs her close, capturing her soft lips in a hot, hungry kiss. Nicole eases the two of them upright and Waverly wraps her thighs around the redhead’s waist, allowing herself to be carried to the pod’s glass wall and pinned hard against it.

She hopes the glass is strong. Because, otherwise, well, they’re five hundred feet in the air. What a way to go out.

Their kiss becomes harder, deeper, more passionate. They take turns moaning into each other’s mouths and Waverly melds her body to Nicole’s, wanting to somehow become part of her. To brand herself into her bones.

When they’re done Nicole lowers her back to her feet and gazes down at her almost shyly. “How is it that I’ve kissed you so many times now,” she husks, smiling, her dimples blooming, “but every time it feels new, like it’s the first time?”

_Holy wow that's sweet._

“What I want to know Nic,” Waverly replies, beaming, her fingers piano-keying up Nicole’s spine, eliciting another soft moan. “Is how is it that you taste like chocolate _again_?”

“Well now.” Nicole’s mouth is against Waverly’s ear then, her warm breath a sweet, tingle-inducing torture. “I have a confession to make baby. See, a marriage proposal…that was a cinch to reject. But the chocolate cake it came with? Not so much.”

“Oh really?”

“Mmhm. Now if that chocolate cake had proposed you might’ve actually had a rival.”

Waverly lands a playful punch to Nicole’s shoulder. “You goose.” Then she slips a hand under the hem of the redhead’s dress, fingertips dancing up her thigh. “Maybe when this ride’s over, we can go somewhere, and I can help you get over that chocolate cake, huh?”

“I like the sound of that,” Nicole hums, dipping down to meet Waverly’s lips again.

Nicole’s phone dings then. Caught up in the sweet oblivion of their hot and heavy makeout session they pay no heed to it. It dings again. And again.

_Goddammit._

Nicole attempts to pull away but Waverly tightens her grip on her shoulders. “Ignore it,” she insists between breathless kisses. “Just ignore it.”

But whoever’s texting is relentless and they eventually have to concede defeat.

_It better not be Shae fricken’ Pressman again._

Nicole swipes at the phone’s screen. Her eyes widen. “So, um, it’s Chrissy. She won nine thousand bucks playing Hold’em poker.”

“She what?!” _Holy shitballs._ Chrissy really _is_ a quick study. Who knew she’d been best friends with a latent card shark all these years?

“Yeah. Crazy, right? But that’s not why she’s texting. Apparently she and Wynonna got roped into some rooftop party thrown by those high rollers they were playin’ with, and Wynonna has just dropped an E. She wants us to come help supervise, stat.”

“Wynonna took _drugs_?” Her sister talks the talk plenty, but she’s never actually seen her _do_ anything. Waverly’s pulse skyrockets and she starts to hyperventilate.  
  
“Calm down baby,” Nicole soothes, taking her hand. “It’s only a party drug. I’ve been through this with her before at college. She’ll get weirdly loved up and touchy-feely for a few hours and then she’ll be fine, okay? But we should go, make sure.”

Waverly nods. Nicole’s trying for reassurance but Waverly can tell she’s worried too.

Suddenly the ride can’t end soon enough.

///  
  
Nicole has rhythm.

Correction: she _thought_ she had rhythm. Then she tried dancing to Latin pop.

Turns out her feet just aren’t made for the syncopated beat and frenzied tempo of a Vegas cover band’s take on Ricky Martin. Nope.

But Waverly…Waverly was born to move to music like this. She’s a loose-limbed ball of energy, fire in her veins, her lithe shoulders and honeyed-hips rolling in perfect time with the thumping beat.

Even Chrissy, no slouch, looks clumsy dancing beside her.

Cheeks flushed, sweat-slicked, her hair flying, Waverly Earp makes for some kind of a vision under the blazing pink-gold light show up here on the roof.

She’s also proving to be one helluva distraction from Nicole’s Wynonna-watch.

“Staring at that door won’t make ‘Nonna appear out of it any faster Nic,” Waverly murmurs into her ear from behind, her arms circling Nicole’s waist, somehow keeping time with the music even then.

“I know, I know. Maybe I should go and check on her? It’s been so long now.”

“Nuh-uh, you do _not_ want to do that baby. I’m scarred for life after what I saw back there earlier.”

By the time they’d gotten to this shindig Wynonna’d already split to a bathroom for sexy times with a guy Chrissy described as “tattooed and sketchy”.

Crazy worried, Waverly had barged her way into said bathroom and seen things that could never be unseen.

“As long as she’s okay,” Nicole frets.

Waverly shudders against her. “Trust me, she was more than _okay_ when I saw her.”

A piercing, erotic shriek rings out from one of the two swimming pools nearby. There’s a wild game of naked Marco Polo taking place in it, and it’s getting rowdier.

This party sure is something. Hosted by Wynonna’s new pal Alejandro, the son of a Colombian sugar baron, most of the other revelers are wealthy, blinged-out South Americans chattering away in heavily accented Spanish or Portuguese. Nicole can’t understand a word. But there’s a champagne fountain and a jacuzzi filled with orange soda, so there’s that.

The five man band finally finishes up the Ricky Martin tune, thank god. To Nicole’s relief they shift tempo to something slower: a song she immediately recognizes as Chris Isaak’s classic _Wicked Game._

Brooding and intense, it’s the perfect song to slow dance to on a languid desert night.

Waverly lunges for Nicole, beaming. Chrissy grabs the man next to her, a towering, dark-haired dude with Clark Kent glasses, who must be pushing thirty.

They’re familiar with this drill by now. Waverly links her wrists behind Nicole’s neck, and Nicole’s hands claim Waverly’s waist, holding her close as they find an easy rhythm, shuffling and swaying in time to the spare, electric arpeggios that hang heavily in the sweltering Vegas air.

Neither of them are on the lookout for Wynonna anymore.

Waverly’s fingertips trace lazy circles at the nape of Nicole’s neck and Nicole buries her nose in Waverly’s hair for a moment, breathing in the sweet scent of her shampoo. She feels it again then, that tangible ache she told Waverly about on the High Roller, that expansive feeling in her chest.

_I am in thrall to you. I will be anything, do anything, if it means I get to be with you._

Waverly tucks her face into Nicole’s neck and sighs contentedly. A beat later she nuzzles against Nicole’s pulse point. “I want to kiss you so badly right now,” she husks.

Waverly’s honeyed words are enough to jolt Nicole out of her daze.

_Wynonna. Wynonna could see._

Nicole flinches and takes a half-step back, trying to put a sliver of space between them. Waverly whimpers.

“I’m sorry Waves, but your sister…”

Waverly tugs Nicole back to her, erasing the space between them. Drunk on the music, or maybe Nicole’s “I love you” earlier that night, her self-control is slipping. “Let’s just tell her now then,” she coaxes, pouting.

“While she’s high on MDMA?! In Vegas?”

That sounds like a recipe for disaster if ever she’s heard one.

“Oopsies, yeah that’s probably not—”

The singer’s smoky baritone voice is cut off mid-lyric, replaced by the sound of a microphone screaming feedback and then a god-awful caterwauling.

Holy shit, what is that racket?

_What a wicked thing to doooo, to make me dream of youuuu, and I don’t waaannnnaaa fallll in loooove with youuuu_

Oh no. Wynonna’s up on stage in her leather pants and _Whiskey Makes Me Frisky_ t-shirt. Singing. In so much as this off-key screeching could ever pass as singing.

Nicole, Waverly and Chrissy exchange frantic glances. On a good night Wynonna has a voice like a coyote with a head cold. Tonight is not a good night.

_It's straaaange what desiiiire will make foooolish people doooo_

Ugh. Nicole legit wants to cover her ears to save herself from her best friend’s impromptu, woeful karaoke. Around them, everyone else has stopped dancing to rubberneck at the train wreck up on stage.

Waverly’s rooted to the spot, staring at her sister in slack-jawed horror. Nicole squeezes her hand. “I’ll take care of this baby.”

She elbows her way through the thick crowd until she hits the front of the stage. Wynonna stops singing as soon as she spots Nicole. “Yo, Haughtdamn,” she squawks into the microphone. “Finally. Where the fuck you been all night? I missed you duuude.”

_Oh boy._

Wynonna’s so puppy-dog happy to see her she decides to go for an enthusiastic stage dive. She drops the mike and flings herself off the platform, straight into Nicole’s arms.

Wynonna slams into her, rocking Nicole backwards on her heels. For a moment she’s sure they’re going over, but she slides her left leg back just in time to steady herself, clasping her best friend by the waist to keep her from falling.

“Nice catch Haughtshot,” Wynonna crows, cackling. “Someone ate her Wheaties this morning.”

“Honestly Earp!”

Behind them, the band starts up again, taking it from the top with _Wicked Game._

Wynonna wraps her arms around Nicole’s neck, attempting a tottering slow dance with her. She’s so unsteady on her feet that Nicole has no choice but to keep a hold of her waist, dancing reluctantly along. “What are you doing Wy?”

Wynonna waggles her brows. “If babygirl gets to sexy dance with you, then so do I.”

_Shit, she saw that?_

Holding her this close Nicole can smell whiskey and the salt-sweet scent of sex on her best friend. In the background the band hits the chorus again, the lead singer sobbing a perfect falsetto. Wynonna presses closer, rubbing against her like an overly affectionate cat. She’d be weirded out, except that Wynonna was just as touchy-feely the last time she dropped an E.

“So you took MDMA again, huh?” Nicole reproaches, shooting her best friend a disapproving look.

“Now now, don’t start up with your judgy schtick Haught. I’m celebrating. I won a grand at poker.” She pokes Nicole boozily in the chest. “I told you I’d solve my money troubles.”

“Mmhm. Good for you Earp.”

It pales in significance to Chrissy’s winnings, but at least her best friend has salvaged her pride.

“This is a fine frock Nicole,” Wynonna slurs, pawing at the fabric. “You know, as the one wearing the pants I should totally be leading this dance.”

She can’t help smiling at that. Always gotta be in charge, does Wynonna Earp. “I’m pretty sure we’d both fall over if you led Wy.”

Wynonna huffs, but she’s all talk, she makes no attempt to switch things up.

“So a little Nedley bird tells me the ice queen popped the question tonight,” Wynonna drawls, blue-grey eyes alight with curiosity. “Say it ain’t so? Actually scratch that, say it is, ‘cos that shit is hilarious.”

_Here we go. Here comes the I-told-you-so._

“Uh, yeah, that actually happened,” Nicole concedes in a tiny voice.

“Shut the front door,” Wynonna slaps her on both shoulders, so hard it stings. “That’s wild, man. I told you that chick was cray cray.” She sighs happily and does her little snort thing. “I never get sick of being right.” She grins. “I so wish I’d been there to see you kick her controlling ass to the curb.”

Nicole grimaces at the memory. “Oh it was a barrel of laughs Earp,” she says flatly.

Wicked Game is almost done now, the gentle strum of a solo acoustic guitar playing the song out. Wynonna presses against her again, her fingers toying mindlessly with the soft, downy hair at the nape of Nicole’s neck.

_Okay, this is getting a bit weird now._

“Why is baby sis glaring at us?” Wynonna slurs, a single brow arched.

Nicole follows Wynonna’s gaze. Waverly is on the edge of the dance floor, staring unhappily at them, arms crossed. Uh-oh. She casts her girlfriend a helpless, what-can-I-do? look. She’s pretty sure Wynonna would get amorous with a lamppost tonight.

“Uh—”

“Honestly, I think I need to have a talk with her. She’s been so handsy with you lately. It’s a total cockblock. How are you ever supposed to get laid when she’s hanging off you all the time?” Wynonna shakes her head in bewilderment. “It’s not healthy. I mean, I’m surprised she’s not interested in any of the guys here. There’s a shit-ton of hot-as-fuck hombres at this party.”

_To hell with her being high, tell her. You need to tell her, now. This has gone on too long, and it’s wrong._

“Wynonna, there’s something—”

A banshee-like scream interrupts Nicole’s confession.

A woman hurtles towards them with a stiletto raised above her head, all leopard print and 80’s style big hair. She crashes into Wynonna with a sickening thud, clocking her in the forehead with the heel of her shoe. The combined impact propels her best friend backwards into the nearby swimming pool.

Wynonna plunges in, doing a back-first starfish, hitting the surface with a thwack and generating a mighty splash.  
  
“Jodienda puta! You fucking whore,” the woman roars down into the pool, brandishing a fist. “That’s what you get for screwing my man, bitch!” She spits at the water and trounces away, swaying her booty triumphantly.

_Holy shit!_

Nicole sprints to the water’s edge. Wynonna is balled up on the bottom of the pool, just sitting there, immobile. It’s not clear if she’s doing her Aquagirl thing or if she’s been knocked out.

Nicole slips off her shoes and dives in, dress and all. The water is frigid and the chlorine stings her eyes. She breaststrokes down, down, down, until she’s face-to-face in this soundless blue world with Wynonna. Her eyes are closed. Nicole shakes her and her lashes flutter. Thank god.

She scoops Wynonna up into her arms and works her legs hard, powering them to the surface.

Above water it’s all noise and commotion. Waverly and Chrissy are poolside, looking frantic. Nicole swims them over to the ladder and Chrissy helps pull them out.

Back on dry land, sprawled out on a sunlounger, Wynonna blinks, coughs up some water and curses. “Fuck my life, did I just get clocked in the head with a _stiletto_?”

Relief surges through Nicole. Her best friend’s okay. “You better believe it Earp.” She brushes back some wet strands of hair from Wynonna’s forehead, inspecting the damage. There’s a flesh wound, and it’s bleeding, but not profusely.

Waverly flutters around the pair of them, agitated. “How are you feeling ‘Nonna?”

Wynonna rubs at her head. “Eh, a little woozy. Wet. Nothing that a hot bath and a bottle of whiskey won’t fix.”

Waverly whips out tissues, some gauze, scissors, and Neosporin from her purse. She’s got a whole damn infirmary in there. But then, Wynonna’s always quipping that she could fit a vehicle in that thing…

“Stop fussing babygirl, I’m fine,” Wynonna drawls, swatting away Waverly’s attempt to patch her up. “So that dude I hooked up with had a honey, huh?” She grins sheepishly. “As a fellow ‘punch first, ask questions later’ kind of girl, I gotta say: respect. That chick has sass.”

Trust Wynonna to actually be impressed when somebody hits her.

Behind them the band starts up a new number, something salsa sounding, all pulsating percussion and jiggling maracas. Nicole, wringing water out of her hair, doesn’t miss the way Waverly can’t help but sway to it; salsa is her jam.

Chrissy has already gravitated back to her Clark Kent look-a-like.

She pulls Waverly off to one side. “Baby, I’m gonna take Wynonna back to the hotel now, okay?” she says in a hushed tone. “We’re both too wet to stick it out here. But you should stay, have fun. And keep an eye on that one.” She inclines her head in Chrissy’s direction.

Waverly looks conflicted. “Are you sure?”

“Mmhm. I’ll be waiting, though,” she says, smiling, with something like a promise in her eyes. Not that they can do anything much in their shared room, other than snuggle, but still.

Nicole takes Wynonna by the hand and yanks her up. “Come on Earp, I’m gettin’ you to bed.”

“Pfft, with foreplay like that it’s no wonder you can’t get laid Haught.”  
  
///  
  
It should’ve been a breeze.

Deliver her wet and wounded best friend back to their shitty hotel room, tuck her in for the night, then curl up in bed with Jack Kerouac’s _On the Road_ until Waverly makes her way back to her.

But this is turning out to be no ordinary walk home for Nicole. This is the Las Vegas Strip at close to midnight, with one Wynonna Earp riding on her back, arms looped tight around her neck, still high on MDMA.

Vegas at night is something else. A riot of glitz, kitsch and acid-trip architecture, swarming with girls in tube dresses, pushy strip club hustlers, down-on-their luck casino goers, and exotically costumed street performers.

At one point Nicole and Wynonna pass a man with a megaphone baying “Amend your ways! Come to Christ! The wrath of God comes on the disobedient!” at the very same moment a truck sidles by displaying a huge “Girls Direct To You” billboard.

_Only in Vegas._

Things take their first dramatic turn for the night when they approach the Bellagio fountains.

“You know Haughtdamn, we’re already wet…” Wynonna drawls suggestively into her ear.

_Huh?_

Without further notice her best friend slips from her back and makes a tottering dash for the fountains, plunging in with a loud whoop.

 _Well shit._ Wynonna would go for a dip in one of the few places in Vegas you’re _not_ permitted to swim.

At least she kept her clothes on.

For the second time that night she has to go Baywatch on Wynonna’s ass; the prospect of her friend getting shot thirty stories in the air by one of those Bellagio water cannons urging her on as she cuts through the water in hot pursuit.

Wynonna doesn’t make it far, thankfully, she has no stamina, she’s too blitzed. She bobs on the spot only thirty yards from the shore, belting out the chorus to _Wicked Game_ at the top of her lungs, in all of her strangled cat glory.

“Are you out of your goddamned mind Earp?!” Nicole bellows when she reaches her.

“Well I _am_ high Haught,” Wynonna cackles, splashing her in the face. “Just sayin’.”

Nicole splashes back. “You know this is grey water, right? That they fill these fountains with recycled water from the Bellagio’s showers, sinks and other gunk? That’s why you’re not supposed to swim in here.” That and the big ass cannons.

“What the hell dude? Ew! That’s disgusting. Oh fuck…MY POOR HAIR!” Wynonna frantically gathers up her long tresses and attempts to balance them on the top of her head, all the while treading water. It looks super awkward.

“That’s what you’re worried about? Your fucking hair?!”

“Now Haughtpants if you had a stellar mane like mine you’d understand—”

_Boom!_

Nicole is blinded, her vision rendered entirely white, as a huge spotlight beams down upon them.

“Holy shit! It’s the fuzz, swim for it Haught!”

They paddle back to shore in a mad, splashing frenzy, Nicole brooding the whole way on just how pissed Waverly’s gonna be if she has to bail them out of a Clark County jail for a dumbass stunt like this.

They make it back unmolested, though, and scamper back into the thronging crowd before a security detail arrives.

“No more hijinks Earp, you got me?” Nicole orders firmly once they’re back on The Strip and her best friend has resumed her piggyback ride.

“Roger that Haught.”

 _Yeah, right._  
  
A visit to a seedy strip club, a meal at an all-you-can-eat taco and nachos buffet, a roller-coaster ride at the New York-New York casino that ends in Nicole puking up said nachos, and one “ride or die” taco tattoo on Wynonna’s ass later, they finally make it back to their hotel room.

“Fill the tub with tequila and salt the rim,” Wynonna declares as they close the door behind them. “We’ve had a night.”

“Waverly’s going to kill you when she sees that taco tattoo,” Nicole sighs, already shrugging out of her still-wet dress and heading for the shower.

_And she’ll probably kill me too, for letting you get it…_

“Totally worth it,” Wynonna smirks, patting her newly inked ass with pride. “I had the finest taco of my life tonight Haught, that shit had to be commemorated.”

When Nicole returns from the shower she finds Wynonna in a more somber mood. She’s slumped on her bed, back against the headboard, staring off blankly into space. Nicole recognizes the look, she’s coming down off the MDMA now.

Wynonna’s changed into a fresh Black Sabbath t-shirt and some silk boxers but she’s lathered in a thin sheen of sweat, her dark hair a matted mess, the stiletto wound on her forehead still weeping blood.

There’s something so damned lost and broken about her in that moment, it makes Nicole’s heart heavy.

She fetches some tissues, band-aids and a glass of water from the bathroom before setting herself up on the bed beside Wynonna. She wipes her friend’s sweat down and cleans her wound.

“You should’ve let Waves patch you up earlier Wy. This is nasty. It needs a band-aid, at least.”

Wynonna just grunts a vague affirmative, her eyes glazed. She flinches when Nicole dabs at her cut.

“Did you _really_ not know that shithead had a girlfriend?” Nicole prods as she gingerly applies a band-aid to Wynonna’s forehead.

_Dammit, that came out judgier than I intended._

Wynonna’s eyes snap to hers. She bristles. “Of course I didn’t. Jesus, I’m not that much of an asshole.” She picks at the fraying hem of her t-shirt and sighs. She looks world-weary. “I do a lot of shitty things but it’s not my jam to be the other woman.”

“My bad. I’m sorry, that was out of line—”

“No it wasn’t, I deserved it,” Wynonna says, a crack in her voice. “I’m fucked up Nicole. I’m a terrible person. I keep making bad decisions, and I don’t know how to stop.”

It’s a rare moment of openness, of vulnerability, from Wynonna. Nicole is well aware of the self-loathing that claws at her best friend, the darkness that resides within her, scar tissue from her messed up childhood and her time in the system. But it goes unspoken between them, usually.

“Hey now,” Nicole says, brushing some hair back from her friend’s eyes. “That’s not true. You’re a good person Wynonna. You’re an incredible friend and an amazing sister, and you have a huge heart.” She smiles, making her voice lighter. “Yes, you make some dumbass calls sometimes. I mean, dude, you just got a taco tattooed onto your butt…”

Wynonna snorts.

“…but you’ll figure it out. You’re nineteen. You’re allowed to fuck up. We’re all still figuring our stuff out.”

Sometimes, she wants to shake Wynonna, wants to rattle her bones and implore that her mistakes are not a prison. That there’s still so much time to be someone else. That she can drop her hard edges and give in to the soft thing inside of her.

Wynonna makes a tiny whimpering sound. She slides down the bed and rolls onto her side. Nicole understands. They’ve been here a handful of times before.

Wynonna wants to be held.

Her best friend is a little gun-shy when it comes to asking for, and accepting, comfort. The request is never made too plainly, and the comfort has to be tendered carefully. It’s a lot like having an aloof cat offer up its belly for a rub. It can end badly if you don’t get the approach just right.

Nicole eases herself down the bed, her movements slow and cautious. She molds herself around Wynonna, sliding an arm under her pillowed head, hooking the other around her waist, spooning her tentatively from behind.

Wynonna gives an almost imperceptible sigh. They lie there like that for a long time, the room silent except for the steady hum of the mini-fridge and the faint babble of a TV next door.

“You can do better Earp,” she insists, breaking the quiet at last. “Better than all these dipshits you slink off to bathrooms with. They’re not worthy. You should try dating a _nice_ guy, someone who’ll treat you right.”

_Your body doesn’t have to be a hotel, it could be a home for someone good, someone who deserves you._

Wynonna snorts softly in her arms. “I’m not built for that Notebook shit Nicole. That’s not my brand. I demand complete freedom, and no nice guy will put up with that for more than a few weeks.”

More like you’re afraid of getting hurt and you’ve locked your heart away, to keep it safe. Just like Waverly.

“You might be surprised Wy, and you’ll never know if you stick to banging manwhores.”

Wynonna rolls to face her, her eyes heavy-lidded, exhaustion setting in. “Maybe,” she mumbles, voice sleep slurred, “maybe if you’d been a boy Nicole. Then maybe…” She trails off, her breathing evening out, as she slips into a slumber.

It’s sleep nonsense, Nicole supposes. Still, she lies there, restless, holding Wynonna in her arms, thinking on the way in which a friendship can be its own kind of romance. On how the enduring trust and intimacy forged in platonic love can trump just about anything.

She sighs. Tonight was another missed opportunity to tell Wynonna about her and Waverly. But it’s not like she could dump that on her when she was already hurting.

Tomorrow. They’ll tell her tomorrow.

She gazes fondly at her best friend. She looks so different when she’s asleep: younger, softer, more vulnerable. The fierceness has faded, the drawbridge is down. She’s less dragonslayer, more princess.

_I love you. Please love me back enough to forgive me._

_Please._

///  
  
“Museum” is the magic word. The abracadabra Waverly drops over breakfast at Starbucks to ensure that she gets Nicole all to herself on their second and final day in Las Vegas.

Wynonna and Chrissy pull disgusted, are-you-kidding-me faces at the prospect of going anywhere near a _dusty, boring-ass_ museum. No way that’s on their agenda today, nuh-uh, not when the glitz and chaos of the casino floor beckons.

So Waverly and Nicole get an entire day together, away from the other two. A day-long _date_ , with sightseeing, sunshine and music. A day that tastes like freedom.

They kick things off at the Mob Museum, in downtown Vegas.

They drift from display to display, inseparable, Nicole’s hand rarely straying from the small of Waverly’s back. She likes the weight of it there, the feeling of _belonging_ it signifies. She’s never wanted to belong to anyone before, but she wants to belong to Nicole Haught. Is proud to, even.

She also likes the way Nicole takes her time, reading each exhibit’s caption with enthusiasm and care, her brow furrowing adorably in concentration. So different to Champ, who played Hockey Nations on his phone the one time she sweet-talked him into visiting a museum in Banff.

Later, in a darkened, deserted room dedicated to the Prohibition era, Nicole surprises her, pinning her to the wall and kissing her breathless. It’s so reckless, so brazen, so very not-Nicole. It’s hot as fuck and Waverly kisses her back like her life depends on it.

“I’m sorry baby,” Nicole whispers in her ear, cheeks flushed pink with shame, when they’re caught by an attendant.

“Don’t be,” Waverly sighs back, beaming. “It was amazeballs.”

They take to the Mustang after that, leaving Las Vegas behind to head east on the I-515 with the top down.

Waverly drives, one hand on the wheel, the other painting lazy circles on Nicole’s thigh. The world around them is a blur of primary colors: the cerulean blue sky, the yellow sun, the deep red desert.

They play radio roulette and Waverly wonders if maybe life doesn’t get any better than this: Nicole by her side, the two of them singing along, full-lunged, to everything from Nina Simone’s smoky jazz to Eminem’s angsty rap as they hurtle through the sapphired Nevada air.

Thirty miles out they hit on the Hoover Dam. They stop for a tour and share an ice cream afterward — double chocolate of course. Nicole dribbles some down her chin and Waverly delights in lapping it clean with her tongue, much to her neat-freak girlfriend’s faux-dismay.

Many hours later, after some impromptu hiking and kayaking at Lake Mead, they’re back in Vegas, snuggled up on a picnic blanket under the shade of a fig tree in Sunset Park.

Nicole’s dozing now, the languorous heat and all those late nights finally catching up with her. Waverly lies with her head pillowed on Nicole’s flat stomach, scrawling out a postcard to Gus.

Waverly sighs. There’s so little space on the back of these things. How is she meant to condense the craziness of the last week into so few words?

Nicole makes an anguished sound in her sleep then, her breathing becoming fast and uneven.

Is she having another nightmare?

Concerned, Waverly rolls off of Nicole, propping herself up on an elbow to observe her closely.

The move must disturb the redhead, because her lashes flutter and she breaks into a slow, sexy smile. “Were you watching me sleep Waves?”

Not for long, but she’ll cop to it. “Maaaaybe.”

“You creeper,” Nicole teases, brown eyes wide open now, brimming with softness.

“Hey!” Waverly swats Nicole’s stomach. “I think _adorable_ is the word you were looking for baby.” She rests her hand on Nicole’s abs, tracing patterns through the soft cotton of her green tank top. “Are you okay? It sounded like you were having another nightmare.” She takes a deep breath and decides to go there. “Was it your…mom?”

Nicole gazes up at the cloudless blue sky, her eyes impossibly sad. “Yeah.”

Waverly’s fingers still, coming to rest in the hollow above Nicole’s hipbone. “Tell me about her, please, Nic?” It’s dangerous territory, this, but she desperately wants Nicole to open up to her. “What was she like?”  
  
Nicole sits up and hugs her knees, forcing Waverly to pull her hand away. The redhead has that shuttered look about her again. Waverly’s sure she’s about to get the brush off.

But Nicole surprises her.

“Wild and free,” she says, whisper-quiet. “She was, still is I ‘spose, a free spirit…”

She glances over Waverly’s shoulder, off into the distance where two bros are playing frisbee golf.

“…she was an artist. She could make something out of anything, beautiful things. She was the sun and my Dad and I, we were just caught in her orbit. She was that full of life. Some days I’d come home from school to find her dancing barefoot in the living room to a Hank Williams record in her best dress and her favorite pink lipstick, alone.”

Nicole smiles at the memory; a soft, vulnerable smile Waverly hasn’t seen before. A smile that makes her heart ache.

“I loved her _so_ damned much,” Nicole says, her voice breaking a little. “But the trouble with loving wild things, baby, is that they’re born to leave. You’re always left watching the door, waiting…”

Waverly thinks Nicole’s finally about to detail the day her mother left. But no, the redhead gives a little shake of her head.

Storytime is over.

“I want to tell Wynonna tonight Waves, over dinner,” Nicole says, abruptly changing subjects. She plucks some daisies and absent-mindedly weaves them together. “I nearly told her last night, but she was too messed up. We’ll be back on the road in the morning. It’s better if we get the worst of it over before we’re all stuck in the Mustang again.”

Waverly’s stomach flips. Selfishly, she’d prefer not to spoil a golden day like this by ending it on such a sour note, but she knows it’s past time.

She squeezes Nicole’s knee. “Of course Nic, whatever you want. I’m ready.”

She thinks back to the night before, of coming back to their room to find Wynonna asleep in Nicole’s arms. There’d been a stupid, fleeting moment of jealousy, but it had quickly given way to wonder. Waverly thought she was the only one ‘Nonna allowed that sort of affection with.

It was touching, but scary too, because it means the stakes are even higher than she realized.

Wynonna needs Nicole. Nicole needs Wynonna.

And Waverly might just wreck everything.

“Hey now, don’t freak out baby,” Nicole soothes. She envelops Waverly in a hug from behind, positioning Waverly between her legs. She presses a comforting kiss to the side of her forehead. “It’ll be okay, I promise. She’ll be pissed at me for a day or two, maybe even withhold donuts, and then it’ll all blow over. You’ll see.”

Waverly sinks back into Nicole’s arms, reveling in the sense of security she gets from being wrapped up like this.

_Safe. Home._

“Here.” Nicole slips a bracelet she’s woven out of those daisies onto Waverly’s wrist. It fits perfectly. The center petals are even the same shade of butter yellow as Waverly’s sundress.

“Thank you. It’s beautiful.” It really is. Nicole’s talented with her hands. But then, she knows this…

Nicole buries her nose in Waverly’s hair, nuzzling. “Not as beautiful as you,” she breathes against Waverly’s ear, sugar in her voice.

“Oh lordy, here we go again.” Waverly tucks her face into Nicole’s neck and smiles.

“See now, I think you secretly _like it_ when I get sappy Waverly Earp.”

She definitely does. “I‘ve got no comment to make there Nic. No comment at all.”

“Is that so?” Nicole dips down and lays a trail of soft, warm kisses along the column of Waverly’s throat. “’Cos I’m pretty sure I know a way to coax an admission out of you.” Her hand slips under the hem of Waverly’s dress, inching up her thigh.

_This is about to get interesting, depending on just how high Nicole is willing to slide that hand of hers in a public park…_

Plenty high, it seems. Nicole’s hand stutters and she lets out a breathy whimper. “Holy crap…Waverly…are you…”

“Yes Nicole?” she sing-songs, all sweetness and light.

Nicole swallows audibly. “Are you not wearing any p-panties?”

“Did I forget to mention that?” she coos innocently. “They got soaked through when we went kayaking. Oopsies. So I tossed them in the trunk.”

“You t-tossed them?” Nicole chokes out, her voice unnaturally high. “In the t-trunk. Three hours ago?”

Waverly nods, grinning. She’s getting a wicked kick out of messing with Nicole’s composure right now. “Mmhm. That’s right baby.”

Nicole exhales a long, ragged breath and squeezes Waverly’s thigh. “If this is one of your plans…if you’re trying to drive me crazy Waves, it’s totally working.” She growls and nips at Waverly’s ear. “We need to go somewhere private, now.”

_Mission accomplished._

But where? Nicole is adamant that the Mustang is a no-go zone for sex, and honestly, it would be super awkward.

“Back to the hotel room?” Waverly squeaks, not for a second expecting Nicole to agree.

It _should_ be safe, in theory. It’s only three in the afternoon. Chrissy and Wynonna won’t be back from playing Hold’em poker for hours.

Nicole is visibly torn, an internal battle between desire and caution playing out across her expressive features. Finally, she lets out a defeated, helpless sigh and nods a yes. Desire wins.

Waverly jumps to her feet, beaming. She tugs on Nicole’s hand, impatient to get going.

So maybe they’ve lost their minds a little, taking a risk like this.  
  
If this is madness then she’ll gladly stay mad forever, together.

///

Waverly is adrift.

Lost in that half-asleep, half-awake place where a banana muffin with legs is chatting to her in Esperanto but she’s still just lucid enough to know that’s impossible.

“Don’t fall asleep baby,” a distant voice calls. “We can’t fall asleep.”

“Mmm? Wassat?” Waverly slurs.

Nicole nuzzles into the nape of Waverly’s neck. Her hot, moist breath sends a tremor down Waverly’s spine, a delicious sensation that snaps her back to full consciousness.

“You’re back,” Nicole murmurs, sounding pleased. She brushes swollen lips against Waverly’s shivering spine. “I thought I’d lost you.”

They’re both naked, tangled damply together on the hotel bed, the sheets a rumpled mess. The dimly lit room smells of sex and sweat. Nicole is spooning her, a possessive arm slung around her waist, her left ankle tucked between Waverly’s calves.

Sex had exhausted Waverly, had drugged her into a languid torpor, but she hadn’t wanted to succumb to the sleepiness.

No, because this is the most intimate experience of her life, this holding. The closest she’s ever felt to another human being. Nicole clasps her so gently, so reverently; holds Waverly to her rising and falling chest like she’s a precious gift. Sometimes she whispers sweet nonsense in her ear or asks her what she’s thinking and it’s just…perfect.

The sex that came before it had been pretty damned perfect too.

The first round had been a firestorm. A desperate, bruising taking of each other, stoked by the hot gore of their mutual want. A necessary release after the anticipation that had built between them during the long drive back across town.

If she’s honest with herself it was just plain fucking, that. An illicit, passionate, late afternoon fuck.

But the second time was something else. Nicole had taken charge. The bed became an altar and Nicole worshiped Waverly with her tender hands and talented tongue, constructing a god out of her body.

That had been lovemaking. If she’d had any doubt Nicole made it explicit, moaning “I love you” against her mouth just as Waverly came hard around Nicole’s curled fingers.

“Waves,” Nicole husks now, tracing the outline of Waverly’s ribs, eliciting a shiver. “We should get up baby. It’s gettin’ late. It’s almost five.”

“Just a little longer,” Waverly sighs out. “Please.” She arches her back into Nicole’s bare chest, wriggling deeper. Nicole’s breath hitches and her hand slips lower, skimming down Waverly’s abs and settling just below her navel. Her fingers lie poised, like they’re planning another wet symphony.

 _Oh god._ It’s too much, that nearness. She’s suddenly a throbbing mess, her whole body singing with that sweet, sweet need.

Nicole reads the signs. “Again?” she breathes into Waverly’s ear.

Waverly flips over in Nicole’s arms and makes prolonged, hungry eye contact. “Again.”

Common sense and the urge to get up cast aside, Nicole’s hands are suddenly everywhere at once, her lips burning a trail of hot kisses down Waverly’s neck.

Waverly tangles her fingers in Nicole’s hair, inciting her lower, but the redhead stalls, her warm breath and soft lips lingering just above her pulse point. She feels the barest scrape of teeth there and for an exquisite moment Waverly’s sure that Nicole is going to leave a mark, going to claim her in the way she longs for. It’s base, and okay, maybe a little immature, but god does she want it something fierce.

Nicole keeps on moving south, though, seemingly resisting the impulse, and Waverly whimpers in frustration.

Midway down her breastbone Nicole stalls again. Her brown eyes flick up to meet Waverly’s for a beat, her gaze impossibly soft. Then she dips her head and sucks a mark into the skin above her thundering heart. Waverly gasps at the sting of it, at the sweet surprise of it.

Of course that’s where Nicole would mark her. It’s Waverly’s heart she wants to claim, not her body.

Nicole props herself up on an elbow, her fingertips playing over the bruise she’s just made. “I love you Waverly.”

It’s a tender statement of fact, spoken simply, softly, with no expectation of anything in return.

It still provokes a flood of panic.

_Please don’t make me fall in love with you, I don’t think I’ll survive loving you._

She’s not ready to say it back. Not yet. She’s not ready to give that part of herself over to anyone. Because people always leave, and if she says those three words it’s like she’s giving Nicole a razor with a map of where to wound her the deepest. Permission to carve out her heart at some point in the near future.

But then she looks up at Nicole, into those warm eyes that promise to catch her, and how can she not fall, just a little bit?

“Nicole I-I…”

Her heart stutters and her throat feels like it’s closing up.

“…I l-like you.” Jesus, no. That’s not right, that’s not enough. “Shoot, I mean…oh god, I’m sorry…”

Nicole shifts back up so that they’re face to face. Eyes full of compassion, she leans down and captures Waverly lips in a tender kiss, swallowing her words, putting an end to her flailing.

“It’s okay baby,” Nicole murmurs when the kiss ends. She traces the lines of Waverly’s face with her fingertips. She smiles shyly, her dimples creasing. “My bad. That was too much.”

_No. No it wasn’t. I’m just a fricken’ coward._

But Nicole’s still trying to make it better. She eases on top of Waverly, pressing her down into the mattress. “I’ve got you Waves,” she husks, her eyes pleading let-me-take-care-of-you. Her gaze darkens then, like something’s shifted. “I’m gonna kiss you now,” she breathes against Waverly’s ear, her voice low and rough. “I’m going to kiss you really slow, while fucking you really fast.”

_Woah, okay._

The coarseness of Nicole’s words sends a delicious thrill through her.

Briefly, she feels a pang of guilt that Nicole is forcing herself to be what she thinks Waverly needs. That she’s dialing back the devotion to make her comfortable. Especially as she’s not even sure it’s what she wants…

But then Nicole’s marvelous mouth meets hers, her knee parts Waverly’s legs, and her hand slips down to the slickness between Waverly’s thighs.

The world falls away.

And she is nothing but a slice of desire, a creature of pure want.  
  
///

Nicole rouses to the sound of clumping boots and cackling.

“Pee-yew, hold your nose Nedley junior, it’s funky as fuck in here. Haught must’ve been buffin’ the muffin again. Crack a window will ya?”

Sleep addled, it takes Nicole a precious few seconds too long to process where she is and how she got here. But then realization dawns…

 _Oh god, no._ They must’ve passed out.

Her eyes fly open at the same moment the blinds are drawn. Dusky light spills in through the window, flooding the hotel room.

Exposing everything. Changing everything. Forever.

“Holy mother of god, what the fuck is going on here?” Wynonna yelps.

Nicole blinks away some spots of light. The scene before her resolves in all of its full, stomach-churning glory. Wynonna is standing at the foot of the bed, staring down at them, the fiery glow of the setting sun at her back, a look of utter disbelief etched across her features.

Chrissy’s by the window, face already in her hands, despairing at their idiocy.

Nicole can’t blame her. There’s stupid and then there’s this.

They’re stark naked. Nicole’s on her back. Waverly’s wrapped around her like a burrito, an arm and a leg flung across Nicole’s front, her face tucked into the crook of Nicole’s neck as she somehow sleeps on.

Wynonna’s gaze locks with hers for a long, long beat. She watches, queasy, as her best friend’s initial shock morphs into anguish, and then anger.

“Please tell me,” Wynonna growls, “that the weird touchy-feely thing you two have going on includes naked cuddling?” She balls her fists, her brows knitting fiercely. “Please tell me,” she spits, steel in her voice, “you’re not banging my sister, Nicole…”

Heartsick, Nicole can’t find her words. She squeezes her eyes shut, desperate for this moment to not be real.

Waverly finally stirs. Still muzzy with sleep, and seemingly unaware of their audience, her body responds automatically to Nicole’s. Her hand goes to the swell of Nicole’s breast, her soft lips brush against her neck.

_Oh jesus._

Well, that ought to clear up any remaining doubts her best friend might’ve had…

“Get up. Both of you. NOW,” Wynonna roars.

Waverly sits bolt upright and hugs her bare chest. “What the frick?” she croaks.

Wynonna scoops up Waverly’s dress from the floor and throws it at her sister, none too gently. “Cover up babygirl. Stat. I do not want to look at this,” she waves a disgusted a hand at their nudity, “a second longer.”

Nicole’s clothes are folded in a neat pile across the room so she wraps the rumpled bed sheet around herself, toga style.

She’s barely got it knotted at the front before Wynonna’s in her face, backing her up.

Wynonna grabs at the sheet, fisting it. She shoves Nicole hard against the beige wall, her blue-grey eyes glacial. “How long Nicole?” she snarls. “How fucking long?”

There it is, straight off the bat. The question she was dreading.

“Just a few days,” Nicole says, meeting that cold gaze. “We got together in Salt Lake City.”

“That’s not what I meant Haught, and you fucking well know it. How long have you been _into_ my baby sister?” Wynonna tightens her grip on the sheet. “How long have you been keeping this from me?”

Nicole glances over Wynonna’s shoulder. Waverly’s just behind them, hopping from foot to foot, a ball of nervous energy, desperate to jump in between the two of them. Nicole gives a little shake of the head.

_This is my fault. My mess to clean up._

“Pretty much from the start Wynonna.” Nicole sighs. She feels oddly calm about this shitstorm, almost like she welcomes it, now that it’s finally here.

Wynonna’s brow furrows. “The start of what? The road trip? The year?”

“No,” she says flatly. “From the very beginning.”

Wynonna’s grip on the sheet temporarily loosens and she makes a wounded noise. “Six years?” she groans. “You’ve been into my sister for almost _six years_ and you didn’t think that was worth telling me? And now you’re banging her, and you still didn’t bother to tell me?” She fists the sheet again, slamming Nicole roughly against the wall, her rage bubbling up, reaching fever pitch. “You were supposed to have my back, man. We don’t do secrets remember?”

Nicole hangs her head. “I know. I’m sorry.”

The thing about secrets, about lies of omission like this, is that every day that passes makes them that much more grievous, and thereby that much harder to confess.

If she’d told Wynonna at fourteen there would’ve been some ribbing. At seventeen she’d have got a beat down and maybe forgiveness. Nearing twenty it feels like lighting the fuse on a powder keg and watching the world blow.

Nicole closes her eyes. Waits for the fisticuffs. The right hook to the jaw or the jab to the gut. It’s what she deserves. But nothing comes. Just heavy silence.

When she opens her eyes again she’s confronted with something far worse. Wynonna Earp gazing at her, glassy-eyed, like Nicole’s gone and broke her heart.

She knows what she’s seeing then: their friendship unraveling in real time.

“I trusted you dude,” Wynonna says, a little crack in her voice. “I trusted you with her. You are the _only one_ I’ve ever trusted with her. When I got sent away, both times it was _you_ I trusted to look out for her.” She grimaces. “And all these years you wanted to get into her goddamned pants?”

“It wasn’t like that Wynonna. Jesus—”

Wynonna’s nostrils flare. “What was it like then, huh Nicole? All those nights climbing in her bedroom window, sleeping with her? Yeah Gus and Curtis knew about that, they told me. You two weren’t as stealthy as you thought. They figured it was sweet, but I wonder now…”

_Okay, that’s way out of line._

Nicole gives Wynonna a little shove, her own temper fraying. “I did that to help her sleep, you asshat. I would never, ever, take advantage of a situation like that.”

Wynonna shoves her back. “Why should I believe anything that comes out of your lying mouth now Haught?” she growls.

Chrissy decides she’s had enough of watching from the sidelines then. She crosses the room and lays a cautious hand to Wynonna’s shoulder.

“Calm your tits Wynonna. Maybe they didn’t tell you because of the batshit crazy way you’re acting right now, huh?” Chrissy’s voice softens. “They’re in love, you idiot. Cut them some slack.”

Wynonna frowns at the “L” word and shrugs off Chrissy’s touch. “Back off Nedley junior. This is between me and Nicole.”

“No it isn’t ‘Nonna,” Waverly cuts in, finding her voice. “This is between the three of us. Nicole and I are together and I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner, w-we meant to. But you’re being silly now. You’re overreacting—”

Wynonna snorts and turns to face her sister. “I’m overreacting? You’ve gotta be kidding me. You want in on this too Waves?”

_Uh-oh._

Wynonna pokes Waverly in the chest. “’Cos I wonder, when you decided to jump in bed with my best friend, my _only_ real friend, did it occur to you to think about what might happen if this all goes south?”

“’Nonna, that’s not—”

“No I didn’t think so,” Wynonna drawls, something sad and resigned in her voice. “Gus and Curtis think the sun shines out of your ass babygirl. You’ve got the whole of Purgatory wrapped around your little finger. They even gave you a sash for fuck’s sake. And you could have _anyone_. But you had to go after the only person that belongs to just me. To ruin that.”

Waverly’s shoulders slump and tears start to pool in her hazel eyes.

Nicole bristles. She’ll take any blow Wynonna wants to land, verbal or physical, but she cannot and will not abide her blaming Waverly for this.

She steps in front of Waverly, putting her body between the two Earps. “That’s enough Wynonna,” she snaps, voice terse. “This isn’t Waverly’s fault. She didn’t _go after_ anyone. This is on me. It’s all on me.”

Wynonna arches a brow at Nicole’s protective stance. Her gaze falls on her sister and her expression softens. She sighs. “I’m sorry Waves, that was a shitty thing to say.” She looks at Nicole, eyes glacial again. “And you’re right Haught. Enough talk. This is over.”

Wynonna starts hustling around the room then, collecting her things. “Pack your bags babygirl,” she orders. “We’re outta here. This road trip is doneskis.”

Nicole’s heart lurches. If Wynonna wants to inflict maximum damage this is how to do it. Take both herself _and_ Waverly away from her.

“What?!” Waverly squeaks.

“You heard me,” Wynonna says, flinging a skimpy red thong into her suitcase. “Get your little amazon ass moving.”

Nicole and Waverly turn to each other and exchange anguished glances.

Nicole won’t beg her to stay, won’t make her choose. That’s just not right.

Waverly snakes an arm around Nicole’s waist and pulls her close. She burrows her face in Nicole’s chest and for a long, terrible moment she thinks Waverly’s about to say goodbye.

Earlier, when she was making love to her, Nicole had looked deep into Waverly’s eyes and she was sure she’d seen it then, some of that love reflected back at her. A tiny fire kindling in Waverly’s soul; a delicate, ephemeral thing. But there.

It’s enough. Whatever comes next, whichever path Waverly takes in this moment, Nicole’s sure they’ll survive it.

Wynonna zips her suitcase closed. She shrugs into her leather jacket and glances over at Waverly, dark brows knitting. “Well? What are you waiting for babygirl? Time’s a wastin’.”

Waverly stands to her full, diminutive height. She takes Nicole’s hand and threads their fingers together. “I’m not going anywhere ‘Nonna,” she avows, her grip on Nicole tightening. “And you shouldn’t either. This is stupid. You’re being an idiot.”

Any joy Nicole might feel at Waverly’s words is immediately erased by the stricken look on Wynonna’s face. She masks it quickly, as is her way. But it’s unmistakable, that hurt.

“I see.” Wynonna nods. “So that’s how it is then.” She picks up her suitcase, hefts a smaller backpack onto her shoulder and turns for the door. She lifts a half-hearted hand in farewell. “Adios slackers.”  
  
_Wait, she’s really doing this?_

“Wynonna hold up, don’t go, please—”

But Nicole’s plea comes too late. Wynonna’s already halfway out the door before the words are even out, and her best friend doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t look back.

The door clicks shut and she’s gone.

Nicole collapses down onto the bed, still wrapped up in her sheet toga, stunned. Waverly joins her. She takes Nicole’s hand and snuggles into her side, sniffling a little.

The room feels airless and empty, as if it’s already missing Wynonna’s larger than life presence.

“Well that went well peeps,” Chrissy quips, sinking into the room’s sole chair. “Maybe y’all should have _told_ her you were boning rather than having her walk in on your sexy times, hmm?”

Well, yeah. That sure as hell wasn’t how this was supposed to go down.

“That was kind of the worst,” Nicole groans, dazed. She rubs at her temples, emotionally spent. “I can’t believe she just up and left like that.”

Waverly runs her fingers through Nicole’s hair, soothing her. “I can. Running is her thing. It’s what she does best.”

The irony of Waverly’s statement isn’t lost on Nicole. She thinks back to the vow she made on the High Roller, of how she swore to keep fighting for Waverly even if she kept running scared.

She loves Wynonna. Shouldn’t she fight for her too?

She can’t bear the thought of arriving in Dallas without her best friend by her side. Or the thought of Wynonna out there alone, a gun in her bag, a mess of emotions.

Knowing Wynonna she’ll make a beeline for the nearest bus station and catch the next Greyhound north. There’s still time to stop her, still time to talk her around.  
  
Galvanized, Nicole springs up off the bed and grabs her clothes. “We’re going after her,” she announces, shimmying into her jeans.

“We are?” Waverly echoes, startled.

“Of course we are,” Chrissy deadpans. “There’s still hours left in the day. Still time for more migraine-inducing drama.”

Nicole scoops up her car keys, runs her thumb over the mustang emblazoned on the fob.  
  
It must be her destiny, to love wild, untameable things.

So here she goes again, chasing after another Earp woman.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, so that was an angst fest. Sorry about that. Now y’all know why I call this my telenovela chapter. :) Imagine how it was to write!
> 
> So next up we’ll be back on the road again. We’ll gets some resolution to the Wynonna drama here and in the course of that Wynonna will drop a bomb that causes a little speed bump for Wayhaught. The next one is also the “brush with death in the desert” chapter so there’ll be some proper action, and I’ll try to build a bit more humor in as well as it was a little lacking here.
> 
> Apologies for the long wait for this update. I got mired in the Shae stuff, it’s something I sketched out early on in the planning phase of this fic to parallel the show, but when I got to it I was like “yikes a proposal, what was I thinking?!” and it was tough to write. Anyways I soldiered through it and I hope it wasn’t too outrageous to read? 
> 
> Thank you guys so much for taking the time to comment last chapter and/or leave kudos. When I’ve got stuck (and boy did that happen a lot this time around) it’s been motivating to come back and remind myself that other people *are* actually reading this thing and I need to get my ass into gear. :)
> 
> A big thank you to the kind, clever and very patient LuckyWantsToKnow for beta reading this very long chapter and putting up with me banging on about a certain less orthodox ship of mine. And to onlywordsnow for drip feeding me bits of her amazing fic to keep me incentivized to finish this.


	7. The hitchhiker, the bear and the snake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waverly suffers a double betrayal, Wynonna pushes Nicole to the brink, Chrissy faces off with a bear at the Grand Canyon, and Nicole makes the ultimate sacrifice when temperatures reach a boiling point in the Arizona desert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, fair warning with this one that because it got so crazy long I’ve split it. This is the main part, a smaller follow up chapter will be published at the end of this week (I’m aiming for Friday). This one ends in an exciting place, but if you’re big on emotional payoff you might want to wait and read them together.
> 
> As always, I think the writing improves as it goes along, so forgive me the first scenes. I had a particularly cold start to this one!

**Day 7-8: Las Vegas (NV) - Marble Canyon (AZ)**  

 

> I went into the desert to forget about you.  
>  But the sand was the color of your hair.  
>  The desert sky was the color of your eyes.  
>  There was nowhere I could go that wouldn't be you.
> 
> — Jeffrey Eugenides, Middlesex

   
 Waverly knows that bus stations are sad, grubby places.

The Greyhound terminus in downtown Las Vegas, though? It’s fricken’ next level depressing.

The rubber-tiled floor is strewn with spit and cigarette butts, and there’s a sour smell in the air, like cheap disinfectant is fighting a losing battle to mask something nasty.

She doesn’t feel safe here, either. Between the hookers, the winos and the shady types pedaling drugs over by the vending machines it feels like they’ve stumbled into one of Vegas’ seamiest nightspots.

“Sweet jesus, this place is sketchy as all get-out,” Chrissy observes, hand on hip, as the three of them scour the crammed waiting room for Wynonna. “I never thought I’d say this, but I kinda miss your sister’s gun right now.”

“No kidding,” Waverly mutters darkly.

They’ve been here all of five minutes and have already been offered a quarter gram of meth by a gap-toothed teenager in a Cardinals snapback.

Skeeved out, Waverly shivers. In spite of the oppressive Vegas heat she nestles deeper into Nicole’s side. The redhead slings a protective arm around her waist and holds her close.

This is so not where she saw this day ending.

To go from the sweet, sexy perfection of _that_ afternoon with Nicole, to her sister barging in on them naked in bed, completely losing her shit, and then bailing…

Try as she might, Waverly can’t bury the memory of the wounded look in Wynonna’s eyes when she refused to follow her out the door. For all of Wynonna’s lone wolf schtick she always just assumes Waverly’s loyalty; always expects her baby sister will fall in line, even when she’s making shitty decisions for the pair of them.

Well not today. Nuh-uh. Today she finally grew some backbone.

But that doesn’t mean she isn’t desperate to get her idiot sister back.

Even if it does feel like mission impossible.

“Dammit,” Nicole sighs, scanning the waiting room for the zillionth time. “Wy’s not here. And she’s not outside in the boarding area, so either I was wrong and this isn’t where she headed…”

“…or she’s already hopped on a Dirty Dog and skedaddled out of state,” Chrissy finishes.  
  
The three of them exchange dispirited glances.

Waverly’s heart sinks. It’s possible. The six mile trip from their hotel to the bus station had taken them an agonizing forty minutes thanks to Vegas’ crazy rush hour traffic.

Plenty enough time for Wynonna to capitalize on her head start.

Nicole gives Waverly’s waist a gentle squeeze. “We should check at the ticket counter. They might be able to tell us something. Wynonna Earp’s brand of sass tends to make an impression.”

Sure enough, recognition sparks in the grey eyes of the petite brunette with pebble glasses manning the Greyhound booth when Waverly flashes her an Instagram pic of Wynonna.

She hits a brick wall, however, when she presses for details.

“I’m sorry miss, it’s against company policy to release the personal information of our customers,” the brunette drones in a tired, twangy voice.

Waverly plasters her sunniest smile on, the one that’s been known to charm even the likes of Bunny Loblaw on a bad day. “Please…” Waverly darts a glance at the woman’s name tag. “…Jenna. This is an emergency. We’re desperate to find her. I’m Waverly Earp, Wynonna’s my big sister. Here…” She rummages in her purse and yanks out some ID. “See?”

Jenna squints at the proffered card. “Wendy K. White?” She frowns, confused. “I thought you said your name was Waverly?”

 _Oh crap._ “Oopsies, that’s my, uh, fake ID.” Waverly grins sheepishly.

Jenna’s brows shoot up and her expression morphs from bored to suspicious.

“Hangonjustasec,” Waverly squeaks out, rifling through her purse, frantic, for her real driver’s license.  
  
_Shoot, why do I keep so much junk in here?_

A calming hand comes to rest at the small of her back then, and Nicole’s lips graze her ear. “Let me take care of this Waves, I think I got an in.”

Relieved, and happy to let somebody else give this a shot, Waverly steps aside.

Nicole leans her tall frame against the counter, a picture of soft, slow, languid grace.

“Excuse me ma’am, would that be a Duncanville Panthers keychain I spy over yonder?” Nicole jerks a thumb towards a set of keys on a hook behind the desk.

Jenna’s face lights up. “Why yes, yes it is.”

Nicole flashes a megawatt smile. “I reckoned I picked up on some Big D in your voice there,” she drawls. “My granddaddy was head coach of the Panthers back in the eighties. Dang did he have some crackin’ yarns to tell…”

Nicole starts regaling Jenna with stories about some high school football team in Dallas, dropping so many _y’alls, fixin’ tos_ and _thangs_ in a thick Texan accent that Waverly feels like she’s been beamed straight into an episode of Friday Night Lights.  
  
It seems you can take the girl out of Texas but not the Texas out of the girl.

The killer dimples and honeyed eyes Waverly’s come to expect when Nicole Haught turns on the charm. But this routine? It’s something else entirely.

Smitten, Waverly idly wonders if she can get Nicole to talk Texan to her in bed sometime. ‘Cos these drawn out vowels and discarded g’s are hella sexy.

It’s doing the business with Jenna too. She’s on the hook, Nicole and her yammering on like old pals while the line for tickets swells behind them.

“So now,” Nicole drawls, moving on at last from some chatter about Duncanville’s defensive woes that may as well be in Swahili for all Waverly knows about gridiron. “One Panthers diehard to another, I’d be mighty grateful if you could help us out with my missing friend here.”

Jenna gazes into Nicole’s beseeching brown eyes for a long moment, pondering her options. Finally, she lets out a defeated sigh. “Fine. Panthers Strong, right? Your friend caught the six zero three two to Spokane. It left twenty minutes ago.” She shakes her head. “But y’all did _not_ hear that from me.”

“Bless your heart,” Nicole replies, doffing an imaginary Stetson.

The three of them turn away from the counter and leg it for the exit.

Outside, Waverly bumps Nicole’s shoulder playfully. “Nice job Tami Taylor.”

Nicole just huffs, her breezy charm of a moment ago giving way to brisk efficiency as they hurry back to the Mustang. She pulls out her phone and taps away, her brow furrowing in that adorable way of hers when she’s intent on something.

“So according to the Greyhound timetable,” Nicole announces, eyes only for her phone as she walks, “Wynonna’s bus is scheduled to stop in St George, Utah for a forty minute comfort break at 10:05pm. I reckon if we hustle we can catch her up there.”

St George? Shitsticks. That means doubling back on their route, more than a hundred miles up the I-15.

Chrissy groans, not thrilled at the prospect either. “Oh god, back to Mormon-central. Really?”

“’Fraid so.” Nicole holds out her key fob. The Mustang’s lights flash a dazzling orange, its locks popping open with a loud _thunk_. “We’ll need to do a quick hit on the hotel and pick up our stuff on the way through. It makes zero sense, coming back this way. We’re done with Vegas.”

_They’re done with Vegas._

It’s bittersweet, that thought. Their time in Sin City has been an emotional roller-coaster ride, two days of soaring peaks and brutal, gut-wrenching troughs.

While Chrissy scrambles into the backseat Waverly and Nicole steal a moment, seeking comfort in each other’s arms on the sidewalk as a hot desert breeze swirls around them.

Her cheek pressed against the soft warmth of Nicole’s neck, enveloped in the heady scent of vanilla, Waverly enjoys some brief respite from her Wynonna-induced anguish.

Nicole tilts Waverly’s chin up with her thumb. “I’m gonna get her back for you Waves.” Nicole’s jaw is set in a hard line and there’s steel in her gaze. “I promise you.”

Waverly nods and ducks her face back into the safety of Nicole’s shirt. She doesn’t want the redhead to see the doubt in her eyes, or to say what she’s thinking: that Nicole shouldn’t make promises she can’t keep.

Because forgiveness has never come easy to her stubborn, hot-headed sister.

Her Aunt Gus has a favorite line when it comes to Wynonna and her temper: you have to let the cake cool before you frost it.

But Nicole is a fixer, and she desperately wants to fix this, right now, tonight.

Waverly fears that it will take a miracle for Wynonna to grant them absolution that quickly.

///

Nicole is flying, kissing the speed limit, ducking and weaving through traffic, at one with the Mustang as it plunges through the sweet night air, her eyes always, always coming back to the clock.

She makes good time. She begins to wonder if she might catch Wynonna’s Greyhound before it reaches its stop.

Then the rain comes.

Thirty miles short of St George, as she strokes the Mustang through the tight, twisting canyons of Mohave County, Arizona, the silver-black sky swells and ruptures, dumping a deluge.

The rain lashes down on them, beating a violent drum-roll on their canvas roof. It batters the windshield, smudging her vision, and renders the asphalt treacherous, slick as oil, forcing her to ease off the gas and slow to a crawl.

Nicole’s eyes flick to the dim blue glow of the instrument panel. It’s 9:42 pm. They’ll make it. Just.

Waverly’s dozing alongside her in the passenger seat, her tiny frame swaddled in a blanket even though the Mustang’s A/C is losing its battle with the hot desert air and Nicole is sticky with sweat.

In the back Chrissy is sprawled across both seats, sleeping like the dead. Now and then she lets rip a bone-rattling snort, jolting Nicole out of that peculiar fugue state that night driving induces.

The rain pelts down harder and the wiper blades go into overdrive; their frenzied, slap-swish motion tallying with Nicole’s own desperate mood.

Her gaze catches on the mini ginger cat dangling from the rearview mirror, her best friend’s gift, and her stomach knots.

She’s had a hundred miles to ponder on how to win Wynonna back but all she’s got to show for it is a heart full of hope and a head full of whatever-it-takes.

She’s not short on pride but she’ll get down on her goddamned knees and beg if she has to.

_For Waverly._

Forty agonizing minutes of tiptoeing through the rain later she crests a hill and St George sprawls out before her, an oasis of twinkling lights in the pitch-black desert.

The Greyhound is an easy spot after that. It’s parked out in front of an all-night diner in the center of town, engine still throbbing, spewing out diesel fumes. But it’s the biker bar directly across from the diner that catches Nicole’s eye: _that’s_ where her best friend will be, she knows it in her bones.

Nicole cuts the ‘Stang’s engine and it’s quiet, the gentle patter of rain and the odd snort from Chrissy the only sounds now.

Beside her, Waverly’s sleeping form is bathed in soft-gold light from a street lamp outside, rendering her so ethereally beautiful that it steals Nicole’s breath away.

She leans across the center console and presses a lingering kiss to her forehead. The brunette makes an adorable low rumbling noise and snuggles deeper into her blanket, but she doesn’t rouse.

_Guess I’m doing this on my own then._

She strokes Waverly’s cheek. It’s for the best. It’s bucketing down outside and round two with Wynonna will probably be a shitshow.

And so it is that Nicole comes to stand alone on the threshold of the Iron Pony Saloon, wringing wet, rain streaming down her chin.

She sucks in a steadying breath and pushes through the swinging wooden doors, surprised at the heft of them. Stepping inside her first thought is: _dry._ Then: _maybe it was a touch reckless to just waltz on into a biker bar._

Because her entrance brings the entire room to a hushed standstill.

There must be twenty burly dudes in here, all clad in well-worn leather, all sporting snake patches on their jackets. Every one of them is eyeballing her, some curious, some hostile, some leering lewdly at her wet t-shirt.  
  
A dense cloud of tobacco smoke swirls and curls around her and the forbidding strains of _Hotel California_ ring out from a jukebox in the corner.  
  
One patron _isn’t_ looking her way. A certain walking-bad-decision seated at the bar, back to Nicole.

 _Gotcha Earp._  
  
She squares her shoulders and makes a straight line for her best friend, doing her level best to ignore the twenty plus sets of eyes tracking her every move.

Wynonna doesn’t react when she slips onto the stool next to her, she keeps her gaze fixed on her shot glass. But she registers Nicole’s presence. It’s obvious from the way she stiffens, the way she suddenly holds herself like a loaded gun.

Nicole does a double take at the sight of the empty bottle of Jack Daniels in front of them.

Wynonna can’t have been in this shithole for more than fifteen minutes. It’s one thing to drink that much whiskey, it’s another to have downed it that fast.

It’s a miracle she’s conscious.

“Son of a bitch, motherless goose, look who it is,” Wynonna slurs, still refusing to look her way. “You’ve got some kind of nerve tracking me all the way up here Haught. You really are part German Shepherd.”

Nicole huffs. “I couldn’t leave things like that Wy. You caught me by surprise, running out that quickly. We weren’t done. I want to fix this…I-I need to make things right.”

“Is that so?” Wynonna drawls. She slams back the dregs of her drink and then turns, at last, to level her gaze at Nicole. Her eyes widen in shock. “Holy shit, you’re soaked through.”

Nicole might be wet but Wynonna’s in worse shape. Her mascara’s smudged, the bandaid on her forehead from the stiletto attack is hanging loose, and the dark mane she usually takes so much pride in is a mussed, tangled mess.

Nicole’s heart hurts just looking at her.

_Dammit, did I do this to you? I’m so sorry._

Wynonna raps her knuckles on the walnut counter. “Barkeep fetch us another bottle of Jack, stat, and a shot glass for my ex-BFF here.” She smirks a challenge at Nicole. “If you want to plead your case, then you’re gonna have to keep pace with me.”

The bartender, a great bear of a man with a nose-ring and a snake tattoo down his forearm, glowers at them, but obliges. He doesn’t even ask for ID, which seems mighty irresponsible to Nicole.

“I’m driving. I can’t get trashed Earp.”

“Psh, the rest of the Scooby Gang are here somewhere I’m sure. Waves can drive.” Wynonna sloshes whiskey into Nicole’s glass, spilling some on the counter. “Drink,” she commands.

This seems like a really bad idea…

She sighs and knocks back the shot in one gulp. It’s liquid hellfire, a searing, numbing heat that burns her throat, makes her eyes water and her head spin.

Wynonna slaps Nicole on the back before slamming down her own drink.

“So is this our airport moment Haught? Have you chased me down to sweep me off my feet? To declare your everlasting love?” Wynonna snaps her fingers and smiles a bitter, twisted smile. “Hang on, wrong sister.”

“I do love her you know, Wynonna,” Nicole confesses softly, toying with her drink. “I-I love Waverly.”

She hopes it makes a difference. It should.

“Ew.” Wynonna flinches and hurt flickers in her eyes. “You felt _that_ and you still didn’t say anything?” She shakes her head in disbelief. “But you’d fucking better, I suppose. You’ve gone and blown up our bromance for this thing with her.” She pokes Nicole boozily in the chest. “I was ready to get a cat with you, you know,” she slurs. “Or a ferret, anyways.”

 _Huh?_ Oh…she must mean when they move in together.

“Nothing has to change Wy.”

“Everything’s changed Nicole,” Wynonna fires back. She pours them both another drink, her hand unsteady on the bottle. “What do you think happens when you two idiots break-up, huh? She always comes first, man. If you hurt her, where do you think that leaves the two of us?”

Nicole sips at her whiskey, taking care to down it in smaller swallows this time. “I’m not gonna hurt her.”

She’s sure, if it comes to it, that it will be Waverly that does the hurting, the heart breaking.

Nicole is a realist. She knows that in every relationship there is always one who loves more, and that this time, for the first time, it’s her.

“You can’t know that Haught,” Wynonna says morosely. “And even if you don’t break her heart, there are other ways you might hurt her.”

“What’s that ‘shposed to mean?” Nicole demands, already slurring.

Behind them the ancient jukebox starts up another Eagles song, the mournful _Desperado._

Jesus H. Christ, when did that fucking thing last have its tracklist updated?

“It means,” Wynonna replies, swaying in place on her stool, “That it scares me, the idea of you with her Nicole. Because you’re so damned _good._ You’re not that dumb-as-rocks jackhole Champ Hardy. I can see her throwing her future away to make somebody like you happy.”

So they’re back to this again, to the idea that she might limit Waverly, might ruin her life by picket-fencing her in.

Of all of Wynonna’s misgivings about their relationship this one stings the most. Because she senses the danger there too, knows how easily Waverly could cast her dreams aside for somebody else’s.

“I would never, ever, let her do that Wynonna,” Nicole insists, voice unnaturally high and breathy from the whiskey. “I want her to soar.” Nicole makes a flying motion with her hand. “I want her to take a glorious bite out of the whole world. More than anything.”

Wynonna splutters into her glass. “Did you just quote fucking Snow Patrol you lightweight?”

“Maybe,” she says, breaking into a lopsided grin, her brain fuzzy.

“Lame-o,” Wynonna sing-songs, cackling. “They’re the worst.”

And just for a brief moment, everything is right in the world again.

Feeling brave, Nicole covers Wynonna’s hand on the bar with her own. She’s pleasantly surprised when her best friend doesn’t pull away.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Waverly,” Nicole says, squeezing Wynonna’s fingers. “I made a mistake. I don’t expect you to forgive me overnight, I know I broke your trust. You can stay pissed at me for as long as you like. But come back with me. _Please._ Waverly needs you. I-I need you, I can’t do this thing with my mom without you.”

There, that’s as close to begging as she’s going to get.

For a second Nicole thinks she’s won. That stubborn, prideful, lone-wolf look in Wynonna’s grey-blue gaze falters.

But then she grimaces. “See, that’s another thing Haught. This obsession with finding your mother…that’s not gonna end well. I should know…reconnecting with estranged parents… _real_ bad idea…”

Nicole frowns. “What are you talking about Earp?”

“I found her Nicole. I found my mama,” Wynonna confesses in a thick slur. She sways so wildly on her stool then that Nicole has to catch her by the waist and hold her upright.

“You did _what_? When?” As far as Nicole’s aware Wynonna’s mother did a runner when she was five and hasn’t been seen or heard from since.

“Last summer, when I was riding with the Banditos. I tracked her down. She’s in a mental institution in Toronto. She’s real fucked up dude. I mean, _real fucked up_. Sees demons and all sorts of shit.”

Nicole keeps a steadying arm around her drunk friend, her own whiskey-blurred mind racing. “Does Waverly know?”

“Fuck no. And she’s not going to anytime soon. Trust me, there are some things it’s better not to know. It’s for her own good.”

Crap, this is bad. This is so not a secret she wants to be party to. This isn’t a grenade, it’s a freaking atom bomb. She can’t believe Wynonna’s kept this to herself for so long.

“She’s stronger than you think Wy. You can’t keep something this huge from her. You have to tell her,” Nicole urges. “Or I will.”

“Don’t you fucking dare tell her,” Wynonna growls. She grabs a fistful of Nicole’s wet t-shirt. “You do that and we’re through for good. I mean that. You hear me?”

They stare into each other’s eyes for a long, long beat. Wynonna’s not bluffing. Their entire friendship hangs on this moment, on what Nicole says next.

“Promise me Haught.”

She feels queasy. This isn’t the ultimatum she’d feared a few days back, but it’s close: she either loses her best friend or has to keep another big secret from somebody she loves.

She should refuse, she knows that, but she’s weak. She can’t imagine a life without Wynonna in it, and she can’t imagine leaving her behind in the sorry state she’s currently in.

“Will you come back with me tonight if I do?”

Wynonna ponders for a moment and then nods, something like relief in her gaze. “I will.”

Nicole sighs. “Okay then. I promise.”

She holds her hand out to Wynonna and they run through their secret handshake. It’s an out of sync mess, in their boozy state, but it’s the intent that matters.

Behind them, someone begins a slow, deliberate clap. “Well isn’t this nice.”

Startled, they turn in unison.

Waverly’s standing there, a face full of thunder. Chrissy’s beside her, looking almost as pissed. Further back, the bikers are having a good ol’ time watching this shit play out.

“Fuck my life,” Wynonna groans.

Nicole winces and rubs at the back of her neck. “How long have you been here Waves?”

“A long time Nicole,” Waverly says in a pained voice, her bottom lip trembling. “Long enough.”

Her girlfriend doesn’t bolt this time, but Nicole kind of wishes she would, because the look she levels them both with instead, the raw devastation in it, well, that’s something she’s going to have to live with forever.

///

So this is what betrayal tastes like: desert rain and tobacco smoke.

In that moment, standing on the floor of the Iron Pony Saloon, white hot fury slicing through her, Waverly’s not sure who she’s angriest at.

Wynonna, for keeping her mother from her? Or Nicole, for being willing to keep a secret like that to get what she wants?

It doesn’t matter. Both of the people that supposedly care about her the most are lying shit-tickets.

Hands on hips, she stares daggers at the pair of them. “How could you?”

Nicole always knows just what to say to make things right with Waverly. Not this time, though. This time she’s lost her words. She’s flailing, her jaw is working overtime but nothing’s coming out.

Finally, she croaks an “I’m sorry”, those mahogany eyes of hers swirling with guilt and remorse.

It’s insufficient.

“I can explain babygirl,” Wynonna slurs. “I get it. It’s a big old bag of hurt right now, this. But trust me it was for your own good…”

Wynonna trails off and wobbles precariously on her stool. Nicole sighs in exasperation and circles a steadying arm around her waist, holding her upright.  
  
Shitsticks, just how much liquor has her sister downed?

Wynonna swats Nicole’s hand away. “Stop fussing numbnuts. It’s just a little vertigo. I’m fiiine.”

“Vertigo?” Nicole scoffs, “you’re sittin’ on a stool Earp, not Kilimanjaro. You’re drunk as a skunk, you dumbass.”

“Psh, balls. Unlike some lightweights I could mention,” Wynonna snorts, poking Nicole in the shoulder, “I know how to hold my booze.”

And then they’re lost in each other, in that silly back-and-forth they so often fall into. Usually it makes her smile but tonight it provokes a wave of bitterness.

Because this renewed ease between them has come at a price. Her.

The thought that Nicole could know something as important as her mother’s whereabouts and be willing to withhold it from her, to barter that away to get her sister back on side…

Maybe it’s unfair, but on some base level it feels like her girlfriend just chose her sister over her, and that stings. Badly.

_Screw this._

“You two fricken’ deserve each other,” she spits out, startling them back into silence. She yanks her best friend by the wrist. “C’mon Chrissy let’s go…”

Somewhere, anywhere that’s away from these shit-tickets.

“Don’t follow us,” she barks over her shoulder, marching to the swinging doors, steadfastly ignoring the curious stares of a room full of bemused bikers.

Then they’re back outside in the teeming rain, steam rising off the liquorice black road, the red neon signage of the pawnshop next to the bar hissing and popping like it’s on its last legs.

“Waverly wait!”

She spins around, wet and shivering, to find Wynonna and Nicole hot on their heels. Nicole has an arm wrapped around her drunken sister, propping her up.

Waverly’s gaze is drawn to Nicole’s deft, elegant fingers, to the way they’re splayed across Wynonna’s midriff. She feels the ghost of that same touch at her own waist, earlier in the day, and it burns.

“Hear me out babygirl, please,” Wynonna slurs, slumping against Nicole. “I know you’re pissed and that’s fair. But I was just trying to protect you. Mama’s in real bad shape. It near-on killed me seeing her that way. Honestly, I wish I’d never found her. I wanted to spare you that pain.”

It’s the same ol’ overprotective bullshit.

“I’m not a fricken’ child Wynonna, I don’t need to be spared anything!” Waverly snaps, so much venom in her voice that her sister cowers and flinches. “I don’t need to be protected or watched over or saved. Not by you, not by anyone!”

She turns her attention to Nicole. “And _you_ ,” she fumes, hands on the redhead’s shirt, pushing her backwards, out of her sister’s grasp. “ _You_ were going to keep this from me.”

Nicole just slow blinks down at her, brown eyes helpless, rain streaking down her cheeks like tears.

Waverly realizes in that moment that _this_ is what hurts the most. She’s used to Wynonna messing up, has come to expect it, even. But not Nicole. Nicole does the right thing, she always does the right thing, no matter what.

Until now.

Nicole extends a hesitant hand to cup Waverly’s cheek. “I’m sorry,” she vows, again.

Stop saying that, dammit. Say something to make this _better_. Anything.

Nicole’s gaze drops to her lips. Waverly gets it then: Nicole wants to placate her with a kiss. It’s crazy, but there’s a part of her that wants that too, that thirsts for a fairytale kiss that’ll undo the past hour.

Maybe it would’ve happened. Maybe not. They’ll never know.

Because at that exact moment Wynonna lunges to the dumpster behind Nicole and projectile vomits.

_Ew._

Wynonna groans and clutches at her stomach. “I fucking knew those fish tacos were sketchy,” she grunts, wiping at her mouth. “God, I haven’t felt this bad since the 2015 chili cook-off debacle.”

Nicole rolls her eyes. “Fish tacos...Uh-huh. Whatever you reckon Earp.”

“If y’all are done with your Days of Our Lives meltdown now,” Chrissy cuts in, lifting the back of her shirt up and over her head, using it as a makeshift hood. “It’s raining bullfrogs out here and it’s getting late. We need to find somewhere to crash for the night.”

Chrissy has a point. They’re drenched through. They’re gonna have to press pause on this shit sandwich of a situation and find a hotel.

The Greyhound roars by then, belching fumes and kicking up a thick plume of spray, spattering the four of them.

“Holy shit Earp, your stuff!” Nicole yelps, eyes wide, as the bus disappears up the road.

Wynonna just waves a dismissive hand. “Meh, chillax Haught. My luggage is behind the bar at the Iron Pony.”

Nicole stares at her blankly. “What’s it doing there?”

“Well...I might have…sort of…already been kicked off that bus,” Wynonna admits in a small voice, gaze downcast, scuffing at the pavement with her boot.

“You what?!”

“Eh, the driver was telling shitty dad jokes over the PA. So I hacked into the bus’s sound system with my phone and cranked up Beck’s _Satan Gave Me a Taco_.” Wynonna smirks and hiccups fondly at the memory. “Good times.”

Of course she did.

///

Hotel rooms all start to look the same after a time.

The cheap abstract print on the wall, the banged up luggage rack in the corner, the decorative pillows that haven’t been washed in god knows how long, the Gideon Bible in the nightstand drawer.

And the bathroom door that never quite locks properly...

“You are one brave mofo, Nicole Haught, venturing in there right now.”

Chrissy’s amused voice floats up from behind Nicole as she jiggles the latch on the bathroom door of their room at the Six Wives Inn, behind which Waverly has sequestered herself.  
  
It does feel like she’s about to enter the lion’s den. Or maybe the lion _cub’s_ den. The den of something cute and fluffy with sharp teeth, anyways.

But she’s always had a reckless streak, and every second she spends apart from Waverly when things are like this is an agony. So when the lock finally gives way with a soft click she doesn’t hesitate, she slips inside, closing the door behind her.

Waverly’s by the bathroom mirror. She freezes, toothbrush in her hand, and shoots Nicole a look so feral and wounded it knocks the air right out of her lungs.

Oh how she wishes they could roll back the hours, go back to the way things were this afternoon, when she’d caught a glimpse of something like love kindling in those pretty hazel eyes.

She’s terrified that she’s ruined this. The beginning of love is such a delicate thing, like the first tenuous flames of a freshly lit fire, so easily extinguished.

Nicole edges closer, positions herself behind Waverly, leaving only the tiniest sliver of space between them.

She stills then, a deer caught in the headlights of Waverly’s beauty.

The brunette’s sunkissed skin is suffused with pink from the shower, her long hair is tied in a loose knot, exposing the graceful column of her neck, and she’s clad only in Nicole’s faded Dallas Cowboys t-shirt.

Nicole’s never wanted to touch someone so badly.

She must be suicidal because a second later she does just that, bringing both hands to the soft swell of Waverly’s hips, her touch feather-light, barely there, but enough to spark a ragged shudder from the brunette.

The slow-burning rage in Waverly’s eyes dims and flickers, gives way to the darkness of desire. In the mirror her gaze drops to Nicole’s mouth and she slants her neck just a fraction, an invitation.

Somewhere in the back of Nicole’s mind she knows that this is a mistake, that their bodies are singing a song that’s badly out of tune with their hearts, but she’s helpless, out of control, a slave to this raw, all-consuming want.

She leans in and brushes hungry lips to the dips and hollows of Waverly’s collarbone and throat, savoring the way Waverly’s warm skin quivers and shivers in response, the breathy little moan she tries and fails to suppress, the commingled taste of strawberry and salt, sharp on her tongue.

As Nicole kisses a hot, wet, languid trail up her neck Waverly’s whole body slackens, turns into a soft and pliant thing. Emboldened, Nicole slips a hand lower, slides trembling fingers under the hem of Waverly’s t-shirt and up her thigh until those fingers find a home just above the waistband of the brunette’s panties, teasing.

Waverly writhes against her, whimpering, and Nicole’s mouth stalls over Waverly’s pulse point. That exquisite place where Waverly is soft and warm and alive and beating around her. “I love you here,” she breathes against the brunette’s skin.

They break the spell, those words. Waverly goes rigid. “Nicole, stop, please…”

Nicole whips her hands away and takes a startled, dazed step backwards. “Oh god, Waverly. I’m _so_ sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, I don’t know what I was thinking…”

Waverly reaches for Nicole’s wrist. “Hush, it’s okay Nic. I-I wanted it too, I always want you. It’s crazy how much I always want you,” she admits, blushing. “But things are kinda messed up right now and it feels…wrong.”

“I know baby.” Nicole runs a stressed hand through her hair, annoyed at herself for losing control. “We need to talk about earlier. Wynonna put me on the spot. I-I was desperate, and tipsy, and I just…”

“…wanted her back,” Waverly says softly, eyes sad.

“Yeah.”

Waverly bites down on her lip and looks at Nicole searchingly. “Would you make the same decision again? Now?”

Jesus. What a difficult question. She can’t stand the thought of hurting Waverly. She never wanted to be placed in a position where she might have to withhold anything from her. But there are very few things she wouldn’t do to save her friendship with Wynonna or keep her safe.

For the sake of harmony she should probably lie, but she’s never been any good at that.

“Honestly Waves…I-I don’t know.”

Waverly flinches and her gaze turns stormy. “Really, Nicole? Are you serious?”

“She loves you,” Nicole pleads, “she was trying to protect you. If your mom is that bad…you’ve already been through so much, baby. Was it so awful, what she did? Sometimes it can be a kindness…not knowing.”

Wrong answer.

Waverly’s fists ball and she positively vibrates with fury. “I cannot fricken’ believe you’re defending her right now. That you’d do it all over again. God, the pair of you are so…” she pauses and frowns, floundering. “Controlling,” she spits out.

“Baby—”

“Don’t _baby_ me,” Waverly says crossly. “Out! Now.” She swings the door open and marches Nicole back into the main room. “Oh, and you’re not sleeping with me tonight. You can bunk with Chrissy!”

“What? No.” _Anything but that._

But Waverly just slams the door shut in her face with a spectacular bang.

“Trouble in paradise?” Wynonna smarms from the bed directly across from her, waggling her brows.

“Shut it Earp.”  
  
_Like you haven’t caused enough drama for one night._

///

Truth be told, Nicole finds Waverly’s fiery temper hella sexy.

Sometimes, though, it can be downright intimidating.

Like now.

Waverly’s hovering at the foot of Nicole and Chrissy’s bed, glowering down at them with those death-ray-eyes of hers.

“No funny business you two.” She waggles a cautionary finger. “I do _not_ wanna wake up to find the pair of you all tangled up in each other again. Do you hear me?”

Nicole and Chrissy share a shit-scared look.

“Gotcha Waves,” Chrissy squeaks. She pulls the sheet up to her chin, cowed. “This bed is a cuddle free zone.”

Nicole nods vigorously. “Uh-huh. There’ll be _zero_ cuddling going on here.”

Waverly casts them one last, menacing glare before flouncing over to the bed she’s sharing with her sister.

Terrific. Like it wasn’t going to be hard enough getting shuteye with Chrissy’s thunderous snorts and whinnies in her ear. Now this. Maybe she should just cut her losses and sleep in the bathtub.

Chrissy cocks a brow at Nicole. “Girl, I’m thinking we need to build ourselves a good ol’ fashioned pillow barrier.”

Now there’s an idea. “Hell yes Nedley, you’re a genius.” Nicole snaps her fingers. “Let’s get on that.”

They hit a minor snag, though. Cheap-ass motel that this is, they’ve only got four pillows between them. Once they’re done building their dividing line there’s nothing left to sleep on.

It’s easily remedied. Nicole picks up the in-room phone and places a call through to the front desk.

“Six Wives Inn reception, Brigham speaking. How may I be of service tonight?”

“Hi there Brigham. It’s Nicole Haught, room fifty-three. I need some extra pillows up here.”

There’s a long, drawn out pause. Then, “ _Extra pillows_ you say ma’am? Are you _sure_ about that?”

Huh. He makes it sound like she’s ordering up something deeply regrettable, like cocaine or a One Direction album. “Yep. I’m sure.”

Brigham clears his throat. “As you wish Miss Haught. What kind of _extra pillows_ do you have in mind? Most importantly, what _gender_ of pillow would you like tonight?”

Okay this is gettin’ weird now. Pillows have a gender in Utah? These Mormons are fucking bizarre.

“Um, female ones…I guess?” she replies, totally lost.

“Thank you ma’am, I’ve noted that down. Your _extra pillows_ should arrive within thirty minutes. Have a great night and thank you for choosing Six Wives for your stay.”

Nicole puts the phone down and flops back down on the bed, bemused. Thirty minutes, jeez. That’s hella slow service.

She picks up her now dogeared copy of Kerouac’s _On the Road_ and goes back to reading.

Twenty-five minutes later there’s a loud _rap, rap, rap_ on the door.

“Did somebody order pizza?” Wynonna slurs, still drunk as a skunk in the other bed. “’Cos I could really go a slice right now. But only if Waves didn’t order the extra olives again, because ew…”

Waverly rolls her eyes at her sister and skips across the room, beating Nicole to the door.

“You Nicole Haught, babe?” a high-pitched, breathy female voice inquires.

“Uh, no, I’m not.” Waverly swings the door wide open, a bewildered look on her face. “She’s right through here though.” She gestures towards Nicole, waiting in the middle of the room for her pillows.

A bottle-blonde in a vampy black leather miniskirt and knee high boots saunters inside. She jangles as she walks, weighed down by a shit-ton of cheap jewelry. Her ample bosom strains at the seams of her low-cut crimson halter top and her lipstick is the reddest red Nicole’s ever seen.

Huh. If this chick is housekeeping, management needs to have a serious talk with her about her uniform.

The blonde parks herself in front of Nicole and runs a salacious eye up and down her body, drinking her in.

She smirks like a cat that got the cream. “Well hello there,” she purrs in a rich, velvety voice. ”I don’t usually do women. But I’ll make an exception for you, honey.” She reaches out and rakes long red nails over the cotton fabric of Nicole’s tank top, across her abs.

Nicole yelps and jumps backwards.

What the heck is this shit? Seems housekeeping are also direly in need of some sexual harassment training.

The blonde holds out her palm. “It’s three hundred bucks a pop. Cash up front.”

Nicole’s jaw drops. “For _pillows_?”

The blonde gazes at her pityingly and taps at her temple. “Are you a little on the slow side, honey?”

Wynonna starts cackling like a hyena. “Oh Haughtdamn…you naive schmuck, never change,” she jeers. “‘Extra pillows’ is code in some hotels, numbnuts. Code for, _you know_ …”

Her best friend makes a rude, sexual gesture with her hands.

Holy mother of god, this woman’s a prostitute! ‘Extra pillows’ means prostitute! She’s ordered a prostitute!

The blonde woman frowns and surveys the others. “Are these three ladies going to watch? Because I charge double for that.”

Nicole stares at her slack-jawed.

Wynonna, of course, finds the idea of them watching Nicole get it on with a hooker freaking hilarious. Chrissy succumbs to one of her coughing fits. Waverly turns bright red, incandescent with rage. Steam may as well be pouring out of her ears.

_Well crap. The universe officially hates me._

Nicole shoots a beseeching, contrite glance her girlfriend’s way.

“Baby, I promise I did not mean to order a…”

_What the hell do you call a prostitute to her face?_

“…lady of the night. I swear all I wanted was some goddamned pillows!”

Waverly nods at her, gaze softening.

Nicole turns her attention back to the hooker. “I’m sorry, but there’s been a big misunderstanding. You’re gonna have to leave. Riiiight away.”

All action, all of sudden, she attempts to hustle the woman out the door. “Now hold up just a second,” the blonde protests, digging in her heels and standing her ground. “I expect payment. I always get paid. Sex or no sex.” She holds out her palm again.

_You’ve gotta be kidding me!_

“But I don’t have—”

“I’ve got you girl.” Chrissy pops up beside Nicole in her pajamas with a giant wad of notes in her hand, like some sort of magical cash genie. She peels off six fifty dollar bills and slaps them down into the hooker’s outstretched palm.

The woman eyes the two of them suspiciously. “Y’all rob a bank or something?”

Chrissy winks and preens. “Nah, I’m just a deft hand at Texas Hold’em poker.” She cocks her head towards the door and gives the woman a little wave. “Bye bye now.”

With Nicole’s accidental hooker situation dealt with they all finally settle back down to sleep.

But Wynonna can’t resist a final, boozy jibe. “Haughtdamn, you’re a horny mofo! One night out of my sister’s bed and you had to dial yourself up a call girl.”

Nicole groans. “Shut your pie-hole Wynonna, anymore shit from you and I’m coming over there with a real pillow…”

“Oh-ho, didya hear that babygirl? Death threats! I’m not sure this new love interest of yours is of sound mind.”

“I mean it Earp!”

Two hours later Nicole jolts awake to a violent snort and Chrissy’s arm slung across her waist.

She stares up at the ceiling and sighs. All that and they still didn’t get those extra pillows.

The bathtub it is.

///

The next morning Waverly’s wrenched out of a sexy dream starring Nicole and a Stetson by a series of ear-splitting, girlish squeals.

Wynonna springs bolt upright in bed beside her, heavy-lidded and befuddled. “Is it the apocalypse?” she sleep slurs. She checks the time and groans. “It’d better fucking well be, it’s the ass crack of dawn. What’s making that god awful racket?”

“Nicole Haught! Sweet jesus! Cover your eyes girl!” Chrissy screeches, her voice carrying from somewhere Waverly now registers as the bathroom.

_What the fudge is going on in there?_

Chrissy streaks into the main room, clad only in a fluffy white towel, trailing steam. She glances back the way she just came, wild-eyed and panicked, like she’s got a swarm of angry hornets on her tail.

She comes to an abrupt halt at the sight of both Earp sisters awake and blinking up at her.

Her best friend’s eyes widen and she holds up both hands in supplication. “Now Waves babe,” she gulps, “don’t flip your lid…but your girl mighta, sorta, have just seen me...” she winces, “naked.”

“She what?!”

“It was an accident, I swear!” Chrissy exclaims. “I went to take a shower, Nicole was sleeping in the bathtub. I didn’t see her there. I got undressed, turned the water on and then…”

“…and then Chrissy stepped on me,” Nicole finishes, appearing from the bathroom, her U-of-C Bobcats t-shirt and sleep shorts soaked through, dark smudges under her eyes that indicate she’s barely slept. She looks utterly miserable. Waverly feels a sharp pang of guilt for insisting they sleep apart.

The truth is she missed Nicole something awful last night. Missed the feeling of Nicole curled around her like an apostrophe, holding her just so, like she’s something oh-so-precious; missed the stolen kisses in the dark; missed waking up to Nicole mumbling a sleepy, tingle-inducing “good morning baby” against that delicate spot just behind her ear.

God, fighting sucks.

“Pfft, drama queens. All this hullabaloo over a little bit of skin,” Wynonna snorts, plumping her pillow, readying to go back to sleep. “It’s not like Haught’s a stranger to copping an eyeful. I spent half the time in our dorm room butt naked.”

Waverly’s mouth falls open and her gaze snaps to her sister. “I’m sorry, you did _what now_?!"  
  
///

An hour later Waverly’s sitting in the window of a quaint little bakery/cafe around the block from their hotel, sipping chai and listening to Chrissy rant about Perry’s latest flavor of the week, some girl called Talitha that she’s Instagram stalking.

Waverly’s being a shitty friend, though, because her attention keeps straying to the asphalt court across the street.

More specifically, to Nicole Haught getting her morning workout on by schooling a couple of local boys in a game of two-on-two pick-up basketball.

They’re playing fast and furious, the ball shifting from player-to-player so briskly Waverly can barely keep track. It’s hot out there, too. It’s not even nine in the morning but it’s Utah in summer so there’s sweat running down their bodies, flicking from their elbows every time they attempt a pass.

Nicole is a glorious sight. She’s all sleek muscles and feline grace, delivering sweet no-look passes to her team-mate and making steals almost at will, her fast hands and fleet footwork too slick for the clumsy seven-footer she’s facing off against.

When Nicole pauses for a drinks break Waverly zones out completely. Her gaze locks on Nicole’s pretty mouth as she chugs down Gatorade, then slides lower, captivated by her sweat-slick biceps and the way her damp t-shirt clings to her flat stomach as she sucks in deep lungfuls of air.

“Earth to thirsty Waverly!” Chrissy interrupts, waving a hand in front of her face. “Are you actually drooling right now?” She rolls her eyes and grins. “You can’t help yourself can you? Even when you’re pissed at her, you still want to jump her bones.”  
  
Waverly’s cheeks burn and she ducks her head.

Her thoughts drift back to the bathroom last night, to Nicole’s talented fingers slipping under her shirt from behind, her soft lips on her neck, the sharp ache of need that had built low down in response. How her treacherous body had desperately, desperately wanted to betray her heart…

Dammit, she’s a jumbled up ball of hurt and longing right now, and it fricken’ sucks. She pushes some of her cinnamon French toast around her plate and sighs. “Nicole told me she’s in love with me yesterday,” she blurts.

She may as well have said the sky is blue for all the reaction that gets.

“Well duh. That girl has it so bad for you,” Chrissy replies in an offhand tone, stirring her cappuccino. Waverly arches a brow and the blonde’s eyes glint with mischief. “Oops, I mean…how sweet. What a _surprise_ that must have been Waves. I did _not_ see that one coming _at all_. Nope, not me…”

Waverly flings a packet of sugar at Chrissy. It lands with a _plop_ in her cup. “Hey!” Chrissy yelps, fishing it out. Then something shifts, her gaze becomes somber, her voice softer. “Did you say it back?”

“No,” she admits, fidgeting with her napkin, folding and unfolding it. “I-I wanted to Chris, I did…it’s just, I’m not sure I can. I freeze up. This thing between us, it feels so much sometimes. _Too_ much. It scares the crap out of me.”

It terrifies her, the prospect that Nicole might love her and leave her, might become the latest in a long line of people to make a piñata of her heart.

“Oh Waves,” Chrissy sighs. She reaches across the table and squeezes Waverly’s hand. “It’s okay to be afraid. It’s okay to take your time. That girl of yours will wait forever and a day for you. But even if you say it and it all goes to shit one day, it’ll be worth it, won’t it, for the way you get to be together right now? Better to burn bright and burn out, than not at all.”

Waverly knows this, has thought it to herself many times over. But knowing it hasn’t made it any easier to open up and be vulnerable when it counts.

Nicole promising to keep her mother’s whereabouts from her last night didn’t help things, either. Moments like those are exactly why she’s careful with her heart. Because the people she loves constantly disappoint her. And the deeper she loves, the deeper it hurts.

Talking of people that disappoint her…

Wynonna’s finally rolled out of bed. She slumps down in their booth next to Chrissy, looking like death warmed up. She’s kitted out in full leathers despite the blazing heat, aviators on indoors to shield her eyes from any and all light.

She raises her coffee to them. “Quintuple shot latte, peeps, breakfast of champions.” She lets out a long, pained groan. “God, do I have the mother of all whiskey flus this morning.” She taps her temple. “I feel like there’s a piledriver playing a waltz in here. You have any Advil in that mobile infirmary of yours baby sis?”

Given the shit she’s pulled recently, Waverly’s sorely tempted to let her sister suffer, but she’s a soft touch, so she sighs and rummages through her purse for the headache pills she always keeps on hand for Wynonna on days like this.

“Don’t ‘spose you’ve got any OxyContin or Demerol in there do ya?” Wynonna quizzes hopefully.

“Honestly ‘Nonna! Do I look like I carry prescription opioids!”

Waverly tosses the Advil at her sister, none too gently. Then her attention strays back outside, to Nicole Haught on the fly, sinking yet another graceful basket. The boy she’s teamed up with slaps her a congratulatory low-five and Nicole flashes that cocky grin of hers, the one Waverly’s mighty partial to.

God she’s sexy.

“Ew,” Wynonna exclaims, following the line of Waverly’s gaze. “Please tell me you’re not leching on Haught right now?”

Waverly smiles wickedly and sucks on her spoon. There’s a tiny, malicious part of her that enjoys the idea of terrorizing her sister by flaunting this.

“Oh god, you are, aren’t you?” Wynonna pulls a disgusted face. “Ugh, this whole situation with you two is gonna take some serious getting used to.”

Waverly crosses her arms over her chest, irritated. “Uh-huh, just like it’s going to take me awhile to get used to the fact you kept the whereabouts of our MOTHER a fricken’ secret.”

Every time she looks at her sister right now all she can think of is her mother, the mother she kept from her, the mother she could have been getting to know the past year, crazy or not.

“Sweet jesus, here we go again. Round fifty-three,” Chrissy mutters, eying the two of them warily.

“Oh-ho so we’re back to that are we?” Wynonna whips off her sunglasses and leans forward. “You’re hardly in a position to harp on about keeping secrets, babygirl. Seeing as you’ve been playing at sneaky squirrels and banging my best friend behind my back and all.” She steeples her hands and shoots Waverly a piercing look. “I wonder now, _how long_ have you been hot for Haught exactly? You never did say…”

Oh crap, now there’s a question she really doesn’t want to answer.

Waverly ducks away from Wynonna’s accusing gaze, desperate in that moment for a glimpse of Nicole, something to steady her. But she’s gone, probably back to their room to shower.

She turns her attention back to her sister and sighs. “Years, ‘Nonna. It was years,” she admits, voice small.

Wynonna slumps back in the booth, her expression somehow triumphant and devastated all at the same time. “I knew it.” The fight goes out of her sister and sadness flickers in her blue eyes. “Jesus Waves, all that wasted time with Champ the Chump while you were feeling _that_ …and coming to terms with being gay on your own.” She reaches for Waverly’s hand and threads their fingers together. “I could’ve been there for you babygirl. I wish you’d have let me be there for you…”

Wynonna’s being so sweet, is looking at her with so much love, that’s it’s hard not to give a little; hard not to let some of this rage that’s been brewing over her sister’s overprotective streak bleed away.

She glances down at their clasped fingers, squeezes back. “I know ‘Nonna. I-I’m sorry.”  
  
A shadow falls over the table then and Waverly looks up to find Nicole standing there loaded up with a plate full of pancakes, smiling down at the Earp sisters’ linked hands, hope in her eyes. “Morning,” she sing-songs.

Holy smokes.

The sweaty athletic thing was already testing Waverly’s resolve, but this fresh-from-the-shower look is another level of hotness. Nicole’s hair is damp, her cheeks flushed a dusky pink. She’s wearing a powder blue short-sleeved Henley over dark-wash cutoffs that draw Waverly’s gaze straight to those long, long, perfectly toned legs of hers.

Waverly breaks out of her lust haze long enough to return Nicole’s greeting, but Wynonna maintains an intentional silence, shooting her best friend a glacial death-stare before slapping her shades back on.

How predictable. Now that the booze has worn off Wynonna is entering phase two of her butt-hurt: the big chill. Nicole may have put in the hard yards to win her back, but Wynonna’s not gonna let the redhead off the hook easily.

Nicole slides into the booth next to Waverly, a wounded look in her puppy-dog brown eyes. Their legs graze under the table, sending a wicked jolt up Waverly’s spine and igniting a brush fire.

Her glance drops to Nicole’s shirt, to the two buttons at the top that have been left tantalizingly open, revealing an expanse of creamy skin. They’re enough to afford her the slightest glimpse of cleavage, and jesus does she long to lean in and bury her face there.

Shoot, Nicole’s gotta be doing this deliberately. She’s trying to break Waverly by overloading her with irresistible sexiness.

Chrissy clears her throat noisily and arches an amused brow at Waverly. “So peeps, what’s the plan for today?” she prods. “How do we get back on track to the Big D... and where are we stopping tonight?”

Right, route planning…

Waverly pulls out her giant paper map and spreads it across the table. She runs her finger from where they are in the south-west corner of Utah down into Arizona, tracing a path towards Dallas.

“Okay guys, I think our best bet is to take routes 389 and 89A and cut through to Flagstaff. We can link up with the I-40 from there tomorrow.”

Nicole leans in close, inspecting the path Waverly’s charted. Damn, she smells amazing, an intoxicating cocktail of vanilla and something else, something vaguely floral that must be her shampoo. Waverly fights a near overwhelming urge to mold herself to her girlfriend and just inhale.

“They’re small roads, and it’s almost all desert through there,” Nicole observes, eyes on the map, cautious. “But on the plus side we can take a side trip to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon along the way.”

Chrissy claps her hands together, excited. “Hell yes. That’s on my bucket list.”

Wynonna snorts, breaking her silence. “Hard pass at staring at a lame, giant-ass hole in the ground,” she grouches.

“It speaks,” Nicole quips, eying her best friend warily. “But tough luck, you’re out-voted. We’re doin’ it. And you might wanna consider dressing for the great outdoors for a change Earp, rather than for an Icelandic biker bar. It’s a hundred degrees out today. You’re gonna melt.”

Wynonna grunts and mutters the words “bossy” and “Judas” darkly under her breath.

There’s something about Nicole getting assertive that never fails to turn Waverly on, so when their shoulders brush as she packs up her map, it’s the final straw. Fight or no fight, she can’t stand it anymore, she simply has to get this out of her system. She grabs Nicole’s hand and tugs her to her feet.

“We’re just going…somewhere…for a little while,” she mumbles, waving to the other two. “‘Kay? Bye.”

Wynonna scowls. “Ew, let me guess, you two love rats are scuttling off to a bathroom?”

Nope. No bathrooms. Today Waverly’s in the mood to break one of Nicole’s cardinal rules.

They’re going to the Mustang.

///

Something wild has taken a hold of Waverly, something animal. Something with desperate, hungry hands and thrumming, molten veins.

She slams Nicole up against the side of the Mustang and molds her body against the redhead’s, indifferent to who or what might see them in the hotel parking lot.

Nicole makes a soft _oof_ at the impact and flinches where her bare legs makes contact with blistering hot metal.

“Waves, baby, what are we—”

Waverly stands on tippy toes and smashes her lips against Nicole’s, swallowing her words. She kisses her like an addict starving for a hit, her frantic hands tangling at the nape of Nicole’s neck, tugging her lower.

Lost in the sweet, sweet taste of Nicole’s mouth, the smell of her hair, the sensation of her silken skin at her fingertips, Waverly finds some small relief from this insistent need at last.

It’s not enough, though. There’s too much fabric between them, not enough friction. So while Nicole’s distracted, her tongue shyly making its way into Waverly’s mouth, she slips a hand into the redhead’s back pocket and nabs the Mustang’s keys.

Nicole breaks their kiss, eyes widening in realization. “Oh no Waves. In the car? Seriously? My no-sexy-times in the ‘Stang rule exists for a reason, you know,” she pleads, close to whining. “It’s cramped, and hot, and the leather is _so_ delicate…”

“Mhm, whatever you reckon Nic,” Waverly hums, opening the passenger-side door anyway. She slides the seat as far back as it will go and pushes the redhead into it. Waverly follows, climbing on top of Nicole and straddling her in place.

It’s awkward as hell, her head’s almost hitting the roof, the desert sun is beating down on her back something fierce, and the Mustang’s black leather is like hot tar under her knees. But it’s semi-private and she has Nicole beneath her, that’s all that matters.

She rocks her hips into Nicole, reveling in the involuntary shudder that provokes, the way Nicole writhes against her, her head tipping back, her long lashes fluttering.

Waverly dips down so that they’re forehead-to-forehead, nose-to-nose, hot breath mingling. “Still think this is a bad idea?” she husks. The redhead just emits a wanton sound and digs her nails into the small of Waverly’s back. In response Waverly presses her mouth to the hard line of Nicole’s jaw, smiling against her skin. “Some rules were made to be broken, baby.”

And then her hands go to work, grasping and needy. She bunches Nicole’s shirt up, maps the flat planes of her exposed stomach, then skims higher, her fingertips piano-keying up Nicole’s ribs until she meets the soft swell of her breasts. She growls in frustration at the fabric barring further passage there.

She buries her face in Nicole’s neck, inhaling vanilla, all the while working to unclasp her girlfriend’s bra. Once they’re free, she whimpers at the sensation of Nicole’s breasts in her palms, the weight of them, the impossible silk of them. “You did this on purpose didn’t you?” she breathes against the redhead’s throat, nipping at the delicate skin there. “You dressed like this, smelt like this…to make me crazy for you…to break me.”

“What? No…”

She feels gentle hands at her shoulders then, easing her back. Nicole blinks away a glazed look of her own and searches Waverly’s face, her brows drawn together in concern.

“Waves, are you sure? Last night you said…I thought you didn’t want to do this while you’re upset—”

Waverly lets out a low rumble, the animal thing inside of her snarling and gnashing at the idea of being deprived of what it needs. “Hush.” She takes the redhead’s hand and guides it to the waistband of her denim shorts. “Just shut up and fuck me Nicole,” she instructs, voice rough. “The way you did yesterday afternoon, hard and fast.”

Shoot, that came out blunter than she intended. But she needs Nicole inside of her, now; is consumed by a sharp yearning to fuck this hurt away.

Nicole’s eyes widen. “Woah Waves, it’s a kinda public for that don’t you think?” She darts a nervous glance around the deserted parking lot.

Waverly pouts. “Nobody can see.” She gazes down at Nicole, imploring. “Please.”

Nicole can’t resist her when she begs. She nods, compliant, anything-you-need in her eyes. She pops the button on Waverly’s shorts and tugs at the zipper.

Afire with anticipation, Waverly bends down and captures Nicole’s mouth in a ferocious kiss. Unbridled desire and what remains of her rage coalesce, course through her. Lost in it, she sucks Nicole’s bottom lip into her mouth and bites down, hard. Too hard. She tastes copper. Blood.

Nicole yelps and rears back.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry baby,” Waverly exclaims, horrified. She twists around and rummages in the glove compartment for tissues. Finding a box, she dabs one to Nicole’s lip, holding it in place to stem the flow of blood.

“I’m so, so, sorry,” she repeats, feeling awful. “I don’t know what got into me. I-I got carried away.”

Nicole traces the line of Waverly’s jaw with her fingertips, her eyes soft, forgiving. She brushes aside Waverly’s tissue. The bleeding’s already stopped. “It’s okay Waves,” Nicole soothes. “I’m fine…see. It was nothing.”

To prove it she cradles Waverly’s face in her hands and leans in to lay the barest of kisses to her mouth. It’s oh so tender, all heart and soul. It’s _too_ sweet, _too_ loving. It panics Waverly. Her own heart kicks in, and with it, the hurt.

She pulls away. “I-I can’t do this.” She makes to get up, to bolt out of the car, but Nicole grabs her wrist.

The redhead blinks at her, confused. “Waverly, wait…what just happened? Talk to me, please.”

She tugs her wrist free of Nicole’s grasp and hugs herself tight. “Say it was a mistake, Nic,” she pleads, a crack in her voice. “I need you to admit that it was a mistake. That you should’ve found a different way to get Wynonna back.”

Nicole just gazes at her, an agonized expression in those pretty brown eyes of hers.

Waverly shakes her head at her girlfriend’s silence, frustration giving way to anger. “Dammit, say something, Nicole. You promised to keep this incredibly important thing from me. To keep her happy. That’s not okay!”

Nicole frowns. “I’m sorry, I really am, but it was the only way...and I got her back for _you_ , baby.”

“Uh-uh, don’t you dare do that. Don’t you dare make out you were being all noble. You did it for you.” Waverly pokes Nicole in the chest, incensed. “You don’t see it, do you? You two are constantly pulling this shit, making me feel like a child, leaving me out. And when it matters you _always_ take her side. You _always_ choose her.”

God, she hates how petulant she sounds in that moment, hates that she’s being reduced to petty competition with the sister she loves.

“That’s not true Waverly,” Nicole snaps, the pulse in her jaw visibly throbbing, an unfamiliar hardness in her eyes. “If it was, I wouldn’t have blown up my goddamned friendship with her to be with you in the first place.”

_Well there it is._

“Shoot, is that what you think, that _I_ ruined your friendship with Wynonna?”

“What!? No—”

But she’s done with this. “Screw you Nicole!” She’s out of the Mustang in a flash then, slamming the door behind her, so hard the car rocks.

Waverly half-runs, half-stumbles to their hotel room, blinking away tears, rage and hurt clawing at her insides.

When she makes it back she slumps down on the bed, only to discover a single red rose laid out on the white of her pillow, where Nicole must have left it for her, earlier that morning.

Her flower for the day.  
  
It’s a sucker punch to the heart, that.  
  
She clutches it to her chest and cries.

///

Arizona’s route 389 is a rough road, a hot road, a lonely road.

It stretches out before Nicole, scarred and potholed, shimmering with heat haze, a dead straight silver line cutting through an expanse of hushed pink-tan desert.

Right about now she can’t decide which she’d rather endure: the blistering heat of the windswept wasteland outside the Mustang, or the frosty atmosphere inside of it.

Because somehow she’s gone and gotten herself in the doghouse with both Earp sisters at once, and that is _not_ a fun place to be.

From Waverly, in the back seats with Wynonna, this means complete radio silence. Her nose has been firmly buried in _Learning Ancient Greek with Plato_ ever since they left St George two hours ago. She’s whipping through the pages at an impossible speed, stress reading. At this rate she’ll be fluent before they reach the Grand Canyon.

Wynonna _is_ talking to her, but Nicole almost wishes she wasn’t, given she’s busy seeing just how much shade she can throw Nicole’s way before she loses her shit. From every song choice Nicole makes, to her disinclination to break the speed limit, Wynonna has a barbed quip and a Haught pun at the ready.

At least things seem better between Wynonna and Waverly. That feels like a small victory.

If somebody has to be on the outs in their complicated little threesome it’s best that it be her. The Earp sisters are a unit, indivisible. Being the root cause of them separating was intolerable to Nicole. No matter what it might have cost her personally, she doesn’t regret that Wynonna is here now, safe, by Waverly’s side.

But it scares the bejesus out of her, the thought that she might lose Waverly over this.

This is their first real fight, their first real test. This time she doesn’t have an easy explanation up her sleeve, or a quick fix. This time all she she has is hope and a sureness that everything worth loving takes hard work and patience.

“So according to this nifty little read,” Chrissy pipes up from where she’s riding shotgun next to Nicole, raising Waverly’s guidebook. “The Arizona Strip is larger than Massachusetts but there are less than eight thousand people living here. And most of those folks belong to weird-ass polygamist cults.”

Wynonna cackles and slaps Nicole’s seat from behind. “We’ve found your people, Naughty Haughty. No need to dial up call girls if you move to Bumfuck, Arizona. You can build your own harem in the desert. Whatdya think Waves? Fancy becoming one of Haught’s sister wives?”

Waverly lifts her head just long enough to roll her eyes at her sister.

Nicole grits her teeth. “If any of us is gonna become a polygamist, Earp, I’m pretty sure it’s you.”

“ _So_ not my brand sweetcheeks,” Wynonna drawls. “I’m not the marrying kind. One wedding is one too many, ten would suck balls.”

A loud rattling sound cuts through the air then, so loud it becomes difficult to make out The Killers cover of _Romeo and Juliet_ that the speakers are blaring out.

Wynonna pokes her head between the front seats, alarmed. “What the fuck is that noise?”

Nicole cuts the stereo and listens. It’s coming from the A/C vents. Oh shit. “I think the air conditioning finally died,” Nicole says, voice somber, like she’s announcing the passing of a dear friend.

She places a hand over a vent. Yep. Hot air. Just their luck that it would die in the desert. When the outside temperature gauge reads a hundred and six fucking degrees.

Within minutes the cabin is as hot as a gas oven. Nicole’s shirt and shorts stick to her skin, perspiration trickles down the nape of her neck, between her boobs and other places she’d prefer not to think about. Her throat becomes parched, her lips cracked and dry.

They pull over and put the roof down in the hope that a stiff breeze will bring some relief. It doesn’t. Instead it’s like being in a blast furnace, with added sun exposure.

“Sweet jesus, we’re gonna die of heat-stroke out here in the boonies with the polygamists,” Chrissy gasps, using the guidebook to fan her flushed face.

It’s not that bad. Not quite. But it’s a stultifying sort of heat, this. The sort of heat that scrambles your brain and makes it impossible to focus. Even Waverly seems distracted. She gives up on her book.

Nicole arches a smug brow at Wynonna in the mirror. “Bet you’re glad you changed into those shorts now, huh Earp?”

Wynonna glowers at her. “Shut your trap Haught. Nobody likes a know-it-all.” Then she snaps her fingers, like she’s had a lightbulb moment. “Actually, numbnuts, you’ve just given me an idea…”

Uh-oh, that’s _never_ a good thing.

Wynonna tugs at the hem of her _Whiskey, Tango, Foxtrot_ t-shirt, lifting it up and over her head before tossing it aside.

She settles back into her seat, clad only in a lacy black bra from her shorts up, a self-satisfied smirk on her face.

Well shit. Is it illegal to drive around half-naked in the back of a Mustang? There must be a law against that, public indecency or something. Nicole clenches her jaw. Wynonna’s totally doing this to get a rise out of her.

“Seriously Earp?” she hisses. “Stripping, again?”

“Chillax you prude. Don’t knock it ‘til you try it. ‘Cos holy fuck, what a sweet relief this is.” Wynonna pours half a bottle of water down her cleavage, a sight Nicole would very much like to unsee. “It’s _so much_ cooler.” She elbows Waverly in the ribs. “Give it a go babygirl. You too Nedley junior.”

Oh god, she’s trying to turn them all into flashers.

Nicole catches Waverly’s eye in the mirror and shakes her head. Unfortunately, that seems to make Waverly more inclined, not less. She follows her sister’s lead, stripping down to a pretty turquoise bra that Nicole’s only too familiar with and shooting Nicole a defiant look in return.

_Well that’s going to be hella distracting._

Beside her, Chrissy decides to join the half-naked club, too. And that is a _very, very bad thing_ because it means that Nicole can’t as much as glance the blonde’s way for fear of copping an eyeful of her boobs and risking the wrath of Waverly.

Of course Chrissy chooses that moment to start jiggling around, searching for something in the glove compartment.

_Not looking, totally NOT looking._

“Do you want a Twizzler, Nicole?” Chrissy asks sweetly.

Dammit, she really does feel like a Twizzler…

“Um, yes please?” Nicole reaches sideways blindly, clutching at thin air, eyes on the road and the road only. Chrissy chuckles and positions the candy between her fingers.

“STOP THE CAR!” Wynonna hollers.

Startled, Nicole drops her Twizzler and slams on the brakes. The ‘Stang’s tires squeal and it fishtails wildly, kicking up a cloud of thick red desert dust as it careens to a halt.

She glances all around them, confused, trying to figure out what prompted her best friend’s abrupt call. “What the heck Earp? Why’d you yell at me to pull over?”

Wynonna jerks a thumb behind them. “Because _that_.” She lets out a long, low whistle. “Hot boy at six o’clock. Closing fast.”

Nicole cranes her neck to follow Wynonna’s gaze. A hitchhiker is trotting towards the Mustang, making a beeline for them from a few hundred yards back down the highway.

_Perfect._

“Dammit Earp,” she growls, giving Wynonna the stink-eye. “Road trip rule number seven: we do not, under any circumstances, stop for hitchhikers. Because…” She starts a count on her fingers, “one, he might be a serial killer. Two, he might be a thief. Three, he might be a rapist.”

Wynonna waves a dismissive hand. “Pfft, so uptight Haughtpants. Surely we can make an exception for such a fine piece of man-meat?”

“It’s possible to be hot and a serial killer, you dumbass!” Nicole scowls. “Anyway, there’s nowhere for him to sit. The back barely fits two.”

“No problemo.” Wynonna waggles her brows lewdly and pats her thighs. “There’s plenty of room on my lap.” _Ew._ Her best friend blinks at her, all puppy-dog eyes. “C’mon Haught, throw a thirsty gal a bone here. Are you, or are you not, trying to win my affection back right now?”

Well that’s just not playing fair…

Nicole lets out a defeated sigh. “Fine, whatever. But remember this convo when he pulls a knife or directs us to his murder shed. Oh, and we’re only takin’ him as far as the next town.”

Wynonna whoops and flashes a smug grin. “Noted.”

Waverly catches her eye in the mirror. She shakes her head and shoots Nicole a knowing look that’s all _see you always give into her_.

Yeah, so both Earp sisters have her whipped. What’s new.

The hitchhiker’s almost at the car now. _Shit._ “Waverly, can you put your damned shirt back on,” Nicole demands. “Please?” she coaxes, more softly.

“Oh-ho, look who’s gotta jealous streak!” Wynonna crows. Then helicopter-parent-mode kicks in. “Actually babygirl, Haught has a point.” She scoops up Waverly’s shirt and yanks it over her head. Waverly rolls her eyes at the pair of them but shrugs into it.

Just in time, too. The hitchhiker sidles up to the side of the Mustang, clutching a cardboard sign that reads _Austin, TX_. He’s tall, sinewy and sun-bronzed, a Liam Hemsworth look-alike in a Stetson. He stoops over the car and doffs his hat, wiping sweat from his brow.

His eyes light up like all his Christmases have come at once when he registers Wynonna and Chrissy’s state of undress. “Well hello there ladies.” He skims an appreciative hand along the Mustang’s bodywork. “Nice wheels you got here. Name’s Ethan. Y’all goin’ my way?”

“Why yes we are Ethan,” Wynonna sings, eye-banging him. “It must be your lucky day, because we’re heading to Texas ourselves.”

So much for dropping him off at the next town.

In the end Wynonna situates herself on Ethan’s lap, the two of them and Chrissy chatting up a storm as Nicole gets them back under way. Turns out Hemsworth-lite is a sophomore at the University of Texas, Austin who’s spent the summer working his uncle’s cattle ranch near Colorado City.

Wynonna’s all over this dude like a rash, shooting him flirty little looks and pawing at him every chance she gets.

In spite of that, and Wynonna’s lack of a shirt, he keeps making eyes at Waverly instead. Thankfully she isn’t giving him the time of day, her nose is buried back in her book. But it’s distracting the hell out of Nicole at the wheel. Chrissy has to keep reminding her to get back in her lane.

Good thing there’s barely anyone else on the road.

“Holy shit!” Wynonna exclaims, fawning over Ethan’s forearm. “Is that an Iron Maiden _Fear of the Dark_ tattoo?”

“Damn straight it is,” Ethan grins, preening and flexing the muscle there.

Wynonna trails her fingers along Ethan’s arm, eyes wide. “Dude, that is a fine tat. As it happens I recently got some fresh ink myself, ya wanna see?”

_Uh-oh. The ‘ride or die’ taco tattoo. The tattoo Waverly doesn’t know anything about yet._

Wynonna doesn’t wait for further encouragement, she pulls down her shorts and bares her ass-cheek to the entire car.

Waverly drops her book and gasps. “Wynonna Earp, is that a flipping TACO tattooed on your butt?”

“Yes, yes it is baby sis,” Wynonna crows, wiggling her ass, proud as punch. “I picked it up on the Vegas Strip that night Haught and I hit the town. Good times.”

Waverly’s nostrils flare and she leans forward to poke Nicole in the ribs. “ _You_ …you let her get this…THING…while she was high on MDMA?”

Nicole rubs the back of her neck. Her stay in the doghouse may have just been extended. “Uh, well—”

“Oh Haughtsauce was totally into it. She even got a matching ride-or-die burrito inked on her ass,” Wynonna smarms. “I’m surprised you didn’t cop an eyeful of it during your afternoon delight yesterday. Guess you two squares must be verrry vanilla in the sack. Lights off, socks on, hmm?”

_What the fuck?_

“WYNONNA!” Nicole snaps, losing her cool. “That’s not true Waves. Don’t listen to her. I DO NOT have a burrito tattooed on my ass.”

Waverly sits back, arms crossed, glaring at the pair of them. Wynonna smirks at Nicole in the mirror.

_Oh man, she’s totally doing this shit on purpose to rattle me._

She sucks in a deep, steadying breath and tries to focus on the road.

But round two comes around fast.

It’s innocuous at first. Just Ethan and Wynonna sharing a can of Pringles. Except that the Pringles smell strange, kind of herbal and grassy. Bizarrely, the two of them keep blowing into the Pringles can. Then she notices smoke curling up from a piece of hose attached to it.

Holy shit! It’s a makeshift bong!

“Wynonna are you smoking a BONG in the back of my Mustang? You are, aren’t you? Put that thing down, NOW!”

Wynonna cackles and elbows Ethan. “Damn bro, better ditch the pipe. We’ve been sprung by the fun police.” She sighs loudly. “I tell ya, it’s such a drag being BFF’s with a wannabe flatfoot sometimes.”

Ten minutes later, all is calm again in the Mustang. Except that Ethan’s interest in Waverly seems to be on the rise. He leans across and taps her book. “Hey there, pretty lady.” He flashes a charming smile, all white teeth and dimples. “I took some language classes last semester, I could help you out if you like? Test your words?”

Nicole’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. Heat licks at the palms of her hands. The wheel is blistering hot from baking under the desert sun.

Waverly glances up. She eyes his Stetson and smiles dopily at it, which is kinda odd. Then her gaze dips to his face and she frowns, shaking her head. “Nuh-uh, no thanks, I’m good.”

“Well if you change your mind…” He inches closer and lays a hand to her knee.

_Okay, that is damned well IT._

Nicole slams on the brakes, bringing the Mustang to its second screeching halt in less than an hour.

She springs out, levers the seat forward, and yanks Wynonna off of Ethan’s knee.

“Get the hell out of my car!” Nicole roars at Ethan, pointing. He scrambles out, rushing in such a blind panic that his Stetson flies off and lands on the floor of the ‘Stang. She tosses his bag after him.

Back in the Mustang, she hits the gas pedal hard, easing up only when Ethan is a tiny dot in the rearview mirror.

Wynonna stares at her, slack-jawed. “That was a little excessive, don’t you think, Haught?”

“He touched Waverly,” Nicole growls.

Wynonna’s brows shoot up. “Eh, fair enough then.” She dusts Ethan’s Stetson off and plonks it on her head. “At least we’ve still got his hat.”

Waverly and Nicole share a long look in the mirror. There’s something soft in Waverly’s eyes, like she’s thankful, but also something smug. Like she got a kick out of Nicole being the one throwing a jealous fit for a change.

Meanwhile, Wynonna starts scratching like a madwoman. “Jesus christ, is anyone else itchy as fuck?”

Nicole snorts. “Your hobo boy-toy better not have given my Mustang fleas, Earp.”

Wynonna holds a small speck-like thing up to the sun and eyes it curiously.

“Worse than fleas Haught,” she sighs, dejected. “I do believe we’ve acquired ourselves some nasty-ass bedbugs.”

///

“Say Cheese,” Chrissy sing-songs at Nicole, Waverly and Wynonna as they pose for a group photo at the edge of the North Rim of the Grand Canyon.

“Tacos,” Wynonna grumbles.

“Done,” Chrissy announces, checking her phone and frowning. “Though I gotta say, it’s not the most _cheerful_ pic.” She flips the screen their way.

Nicole thinks it might just be the most miserable picture ever taken in such a breathtaking place.

The three of them are standing awkwardly apart. Wynonna’s eyes are on her boots, sullen. Waverly’s staring off into the distance, her mouth set in a grim line. Nicole’s gazing at the other two, a sad, wistful expression on her face.

“At least my hair looks stellar,” Wynonna quips. She claps her hands. “Right, we’ve seen the giant fucking hole in the ground, taken a selfie with it, time to jet peeps. Civilization and another quintuple shot latte await.” She turns and heads back up the trail, in the direction of the Mustang.

Chrissy trots after her but Nicole and Waverly hang back, neither quite ready to relinquish this view yet.

They’re at the Toroweap outlook, one of the most remote viewpoints on the North Rim. The Grand Canyon is at its narrowest here, the great red capes of the South Rim so close Nicole feels like she could almost leap across.

She stares three thousand vertigo inducing feet down, at the gleaming grey-green snake of the Colorado river far below them. Then her gaze flicks up to Waverly.

The brunette is a vision. She’s at the very edge of the canyon, hands on her hips, a wild breeze whipping at her long hair, her small, powerful form outlined against the azure blue sky.

A peregrine falcon sweeps overhead and Waverly tracks it, her hazel eyes alight with wonder. Nicole’s heart slams into her ribs at the sight. There is something so pure, so fierce, so free, about her girlfriend in that moment.

This trip has changed Waverly, Nicole realizes. She is blooming. Out on the road she is growing into the strong, independent, pocket-warrior of a woman she’s always been destined to become.

For the first time then, she fully appreciates just how much her and Wynonna’s fixation with safeguarding Waverly must chafe.

Nicole’s first instinct is to protect, but she also knows that you can kill a flower with too much water, can smother it with too much love.

“It’s gorgeous here,” Waverly muses, eyes full of sky, full of sun.

_Not as gorgeous as you._

Nicole doesn’t speak the sappy line out loud; she doesn’t have to. Waverly knows based on the way she blushes.

Nicole moves into Waverly’s space, cups her face in her hand, trails a thumb down her cheek. She aches for the day this could have been, for how happy they should have been, in a place like this, together.

“I’m sorry Waverly,” she says, her voice melting to a whisper. It feels like the thousandth time she’s said that. But they’re still not the words the brunette needs to hear.

She watches, helpless, as longing and hurt flicker in Waverly’s eyes.

Waverly covers the hand Nicole’s holding to her cheek with her own. “Nicole—”

Wynonna cattle whistles at them. “Get a move on slackers,” she hollers. “We’re already way behind schedule thanks to Haught making us drive sixty miles down this goat track.”

Nicole sighs. “Your sister’s kind of an obnoxious jackhole sometimes.”

“I’m aware.” Waverly ducks her head, trying to conceal a smile. “You know that she’s riling you on purpose, right? That this is payback. I warned you…Wynonna can hold a fricken’ grudge like nobody else. That girl has staying power.”

“I’m aware,” Nicole says, tossing her words back at her, with a wry smile of her own.

They catch up to the others as the trail slopes back down towards to the aspens they left the Mustang shaded under.

Wynonna tips water down the front of her t-shirt and groans. “Hiking in one hundred degree heat just to see a hole in the ground. Fuck me,” she gripes. She side-eyes Nicole. “And I can’t believe you made us drive down a track that makes Bolivia’s Death Road seem like a fucking superhighway to get here, Haughtdamn.”

“Oh stop your carping Earp. This is the authentic Grand Canyon experience. No shitty tourist traps for us.”

“Guys—” Chrissy cuts in.

Wynonna pokes Nicole in the ribs. “Authentic? Balls. You just wanted to save the $25 park entrance fee at the legit North Rim viewpoint. You’re such a tight ass Haught.”

“Well you gotta admit, it is kinda extortionate…”

Wynonna shakes her head. “Nedley junior has a whole bank in her pocket and you’re worried about $25?!”

“GUYS!” Chrissy shouts. “There’s a bear in our car!”

“There’s a what now?” Wynonna gasps, cringing at the ‘B’ word.

The four of them freeze in place. Nicole surveys the Mustang, where they left it with its top down, parked less than twenty yards away. Her jaw drops in amazement.

There’s a massive black bear settled in the front passenger seat.

It’s sitting there, calm as can be, scooping up random items, sniffing at them and tossing them out as it deems each one inedible.

Wynonna emits a strangled moan. “Holy mother of god, it’s a real fucking BEAR! Run for it peeps.”

“No!” Chrissy grabs Wynonna’s wrist. “Daddy says the worst thing you can do when you meet a bear is run. It’ll think you’re prey and give chase. We need to hit the deck, nice and easy now.”

The four of them drop slowly down onto the rough gravel until they’re lying flat, eyes locked on the bear. Nicole takes Waverly’s hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze, her own heart racing.

“This is all your fault Haught,” Wynonna hisses from the dirt next to her. “You and your obsession with seeing the _hole_ from the middle of the boonies. Bet there aren’t any BEARS at the proper viewpoint!”

Nicole huffs. “You know what, Earp? Maybe it’s got a hankering for a taco. How ‘bout you go flash your ass at it.”

The bear lets out an excited grunt then. It brandishes a bag of Doritos, slashing it with its claws and tipping chips down its gullet.

“Well snap, the thieving varmint found my snacks stash,” Wynonna yelps.

Nicole can’t help but marvel at it. It really is a magnificent creature, and extremely clever, too.

Failing to find any more goodies in the front of the car, the bear clambers between the seats and starts snuffling in the back.

It must hit the jackpot there because the four of them suddenly come under aerial bombardment, the bear tossing all sorts of junk their way.

A hiking boot lands next to Waverly’s ear. The Pringles bong sloshes down a yard to the left of Chrissy.

Then a canister with the face of a bear splashed across it lands with a _thwack_ a mere inch from Nicole’s nose. She chuckles. “Holy crap Earp! Look, it’s the bear repellent you bought in Montana. See how well it works? The bear’s using it _on us_ , as a grenade.”

“Shut it Haught.”

More stuff rains down around them as the bear goes into overdrive, flinging things at will.

“Dang it, it’s gonna strip the car bare if we don’t do something soon,” Chrissy frets. “Daddy says the best way to scare off a bear is to charge straight at it and make one helluva racket.”

Nicole eyes the bear warily. “Uh, that thing’s the size of a Volkswagen. Damned if I’m runnin’ at it.”

The bear lumbers over the back of the Mustang and sniffs at the trunk. _Oh no._ Their luggage.

It nuzzles at the handle with its mouth until it finds purchase, and yanks. The trunk springs open.

“Fudgenuggets!” Waverly whisper-shouts. “It’s a crafty critter.”

It tugs on a purple suitcase, jerking it out onto the gravel and scrabbling at it.

“Sweet jesus!” Chrissy exclaims. “That’s my stuff. My nine thousand bucks is in there!”

Uh-oh. Nicole pictures the bear getting its paws on the wad of notes and flinging it into the air, the sky raining cash.

Chrissy scoops up the bear repellent and springs to her feet. “I don’t think so buster,” she cries, menace in her voice.

“Chrissy, no—” Nicole warns.

But it’s too late. The blonde charges at the bear, screeching and yodelling like a lunatic, arms flailing.

The bear raises its head, startles, grunts, and does a comical double-take at the sight of Chrissy streaking towards it. It rears up on its hind legs, performs an abrupt one-eighty, and scampers off into the aspens like it’s got a mountain lion on its tail.

Well who’d a thunk it? That actually works.

“Told ya,” Wynonna drawls, shaking her head in admiration. “Those Nedley’s are tough bastards.”

///  
  
If hell exists, it must be a lot like this. Blazing hot and bone-deep lonely.

Nicole’s at the wheel again, piloting the Mustang through the rugged red moonscape of the House Rock Valley, the afternoon sun sinking ever lower in her mirrors.

The desert in this part of Arizona is so parched it’s cracking. Giant fissures mar the earth, as if the gods have reached down from the heavens and torn the land asunder with their hands.

And oh man is it hot, hot, hot. The sort of heat that turns tarmac into treacle, swells door frames, makes car handles burn.

Nicole chugs bottle after bottle of warm water. It brings little relief. She longs for an ice cold diet coke, daydreams about clasping a cold can to her flushed neck.

There’s nowhere to buy a coke out here, though. There’s nothing. No shops, no people, no cars.

The other three are enjoying a siesta, lulled into lethargy by the sun. She’d nap through hell, too, she supposes, if she had the chance.

Instead, here she is, wrapped in solitude. The wind whistling off her wing mirror. The sleek white contrails in the deep blue sky above her the only reminder of civilization.

The loneliness eats at her. Her mind, befuddled by heat, circles on her fight with Waverly, gets stuck in a loop.

Maybe Waverly’s right, maybe she did make a mistake. Maybe there was another way. Maybe she should’ve just thrown Wynonna over her shoulder and hauled her ass the hell out of that damned bar…

The engine light blinks yellow on the dash, starts to flash. Her heart stutters along in time with it. Then the temperature gauge swings wildly into the red zone.

Oh no, no, no. Not out here. Please. Not in hell.

Her silent plea goes unanswered. The indicator on the temperature gauge hits max heat and stays there. Tell-tale wisps of steam curl up from under the hood. An acrid, burning smell permeates the air, seeping in through the vents.

The engine gives a cough and their speed drops. She slams the gas pedal all the way to the floor. The ‘Stang fails to respond, but the steam and the burning smell get ten times worse.

Goddammit, she has to pull over before the whole thing blows.

Nicole stops by the side of the road and cuts the engine. She rests her forehead on the steering wheel for a long moment. This is bad. An overheated car in the desert. No cell signal, no other traffic…

She sucks in a steadying breath and rummages in the glove compartment for the Mustang’s manual, careful not to disturb Chrissy. She doesn’t want to panic the others until she knows how bad this is. She’s no mechanic, but she’s good with her hands, maybe she can fix this.

Outside the car, there’s nothing but the black ribbon of the road and a vast expanse of red rock and sagebrush. The tarmac is so hot under her feet it burns through the soles of her sneakers.

Out front the Mustang’s hood is steaming, untouchable. She flips through the manual, hunting for answers.

A door swings open and Wynonna appears, rubbing sleeping fists to sleepy eyes. She sniffs at the air. “What’s cooking, Haughtstuff?”

Nicole sighs. “The car. The engine overheated.”

Wynonna’s dark brows knit. “Well snap. What a shit sandwich of a situation.” She squats down and inspects the ground underneath the car. “We’re leaking coolant. Looks like a radiator problem to me.”

Crap, that doesn’t sound good. Still, Wynonna’s worked a summer in a garage, maybe she can fix it.

Wynonna makes to pop the hood.

Nicole grabs her hand, intercepting her. “Woah. You can’t touch that Earp, it’s crazy hot! The manual says we need to wait forty minutes at least—”

“Fuck the manual Haught. Spoiler alert: we’re in the desert, if we don’t sort this sitch out 911ish we could end up vulture chow.”

Nicole frowns. “Wynonna, you’re being reckless.”

“You know what Haught, that’s kind of my brand and it’s been working fine so far. You can wrap yourself in rules, but I’m gonna get shit done.”

Wynonna breaks free of Nicole’s grip and pops the hood, flinching at the hot air that escapes as she hooks the hood prop quick-as-a-flash into its slot.

A thick cloud of hot steam billows up from the exposed engine, forcing them both to backpedal at speed.  
  
Once it’s cleared, Wynonna stoops low to inspect the sizzling engine bay, careful to not to fry her fingers on hot metal. “I can’t be sure until it cools down in here and I can touch shit, but I think the upper radiator hose has burst. We’ll need to find the leak, tape it up, refill the coolant and hope like hell that does the trick.”

Her best friend steps back and jerks a thumb out into the desert. “In the meantime, I’m gonna go introduce hazelnut latte to the Badlands.” She strides off in the direction of a taller than average patch of sagebrush.

Nicole decides to follow. Her bladder’s throbbing like crazy from all that water she downed.

Wynonna does a double take at the sight of her hot on her heels. “Holy fuck, can’t I even answer the call of nature without you tailing me, Haught?”

“You’re not the only one who needs to pee, Earp. I drank a shit-ton of water.”

They’re at the sagebrush now. Wynonna juts her chin out and makes a shooing motion with her hand. “Well go find your own goddamn cactus to piss behind, this one’s mine.”

Christ, it’s not like she’s planning on peeing right next to her. And it’s sagebrush, not cactus…

“It’s a free country,” Nicole snaps. “Dammit, Wynonna, I am _so_ sick of your attitude today. How long are you going to keep this up? I’m dating your sister. Deal with it.”

Wynonna takes a step towards her, so that they’re almost nose-to-nose. Eyes blazing, she stabs a finger into Nicole’s chest. “Let’s see now…you lied to me for _six fucking years_ , Nicole. How about we start with that and go from there.”

“Wynonna…”

Something stirs on the ground at their feet. Nicole glances down. Her heart skips a beat. There, a few inches from Wynonna’s bare leg, is a coiled snake. And not just any snake. A yellow-tan creature with distinctive dark diamond markings and a rattle for a tail.

For a brief moment, a second or two at most, Nicole is transfixed by it.

Its forked black tongue flicks in and out, tasting the air. Its slitted golden eyes are locked on Wynonna, studying her.

Nicole knows that rattlesnakes aren’t aggressive by nature. But they’ve invaded this one’s quiet space, have basically trampled on it. She doesn’t blame it for what comes next.

The snake draws back, poised to strike, then lunges forward, lightening fast, its jaws wide open.

Later, she’ll dwell on all the things she might have done differently. Like kicking at the snake, maybe.

But at the crucial moment, operating on instinct, she does what she always does in such situations: she puts herself between the people she loves and danger.

She grunts a warning and shoves at Wynonna, throwing out her leg in front of her best friend’s just in time.

There’s a feeling like an animal trap snapping shut around her ankle and then instant pain lances through her. A pure sort of pain that deprives her of speech.

She crumples to the ground, landing in a tangle of limbs on Wynonna, who’s already down on the dirt courtesy of Nicole’s shove.

“’The hell, Nicole? If you wanted to cop a feel, you just had to ask.”

“Snake,” she croaks, finding her voice. It’s unnecessary. The creature lets out a distinctive rattle, a rapidfire _tick-tick-tick_ sound, like an out-of-control sprinkler. Wynonna’s eyes snap to it. It’s hovering across from them, a mere two yards away, contemplating another strike. It thinks better of it, though, and slithers off into the sagebrush.

Wynonna’s gaze darts from the departing snake to Nicole’s leg. They both stare down in shock at the two bloody marks scored into her ankle.

Then Wynonna’s grey-blue eyes, brimming with raw anguish, find hers. “No, no, no, Nicole,” she pleads, voice breaking. “You did _not_ just do that.”

Nicole tries to sit up but her head spins. The pain is overwhelming. Her ankle burns and there’s a prickling sensation there, a fast-spreading numbness. Her pulse pounds in her ears.

“Look at me Haught,” Wynonna demands, sitting up next to her, panic and desperation thick in her voice. “What do I do? Should I suck the venom out? Should I apply a tourniquet?” She makes to start shredding her t-shirt, hands shaking.

Nicole tries to think clearly through the fog of shock and poison. There are rattlesnakes in the B.C. wilderness. She was briefed on them as part of her safety training for her summer job.

“No tourniquets,” she recalls. “Definitely no venom sucking. I-I need to…move as little as possible…and get to a hospital ASAP…for anti-venom.”

But they’re in the middle of nowhere. Their vehicle is out of action. They have no cell signal. She hasn’t seen another car in over an hour.

She realizes then that there’s a good chance she might die out here. She sees the same realization dawn in her best friend’s eyes.

Wynonna trails a finger over her puncture wound. Nicole flinches, the slightest touch there is excruciating. Her ankle is already swelling up.

“How long do I have to get you to a hospital?” Wynonna near-whispers, like she’s afraid to hear the answer.

Nicole scrubs at her face. “I-I don’t know. It depends on the rattler. The species…the size…But a few hours…I think.”

Wynonna cups her cheek, locks their gazes. “I will get you out of here Nicole,” she vows, a fierce expression blazing on her face. “You hear me? Even if I have to carry you on my fucking back. I will _not_ let you die.”

Wynonna stands up then. “WAVERLY,” she shouts, her voice booming out across the deep silence of the desert. Somewhere high above them a bird of prey answers back with a strangled cry.

Nicole staggers to her feet. The ground wobbles beneath her. She feels woozy, breathless. Her leg is numb from the knee down now. She grabs Wynonna’s wrist. “Don’t scare her,” she croaks. “Please.”

Wynonna circles an arm around her waist, steadies her. She levels Nicole with a piercing, tender look. “You really _do_ love her, don’t you?” There’s wonder in her voice.

Nicole nods.

_More than anything, maybe._

Wynonna knots her fist in Nicole’s shirt and pulls her close, searching her eyes. It reminds her of Vegas, of Wynonna holding her up against the wall of their hotel room in her sheet toga. But there’s no betrayal, no anger, in that grey-blue gaze today. There’s only affection, and fear. Her touch is gentle. “Why Nicole? Why’d you do it?”

She tries for a smile. “Because I love you too, Wynonna…”

Darkness plays at the edges of her vision. She feels the poison thrumming in her veins, singing a death song.

“…and I’ve always got your back.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Er, so yes I know that’s a cruel, cruel place to leave it. The good news is that you only have to wait until the end of the week to find out if I’ve killed off Nicole. *Mwahaha*
> 
> Emotional payoff is coming, so hang tight. Some sweet Wayhaught and softer Wynonna ahead...
> 
> OTT Wynonna was back with a vengeance in this one, sorry! But I hope it served a purpose and that it’ll make her next few scenes that much more satisfying. 
> 
> Apologies for yet another slow update. I took some time out after my last chapter to do some real traveling and, accident-prone idiot that I am, I promptly broke my collarbone. So this chapter got off to a very slow start. 
> 
> As always, a big thank you for reading and taking the time out of your busy lives to leave comments/kudos. Writing this fic has driven me a little crazy at times, but there have been some moments of pure joy I’ve experienced in the writing of it that I may not have had but for your encouragement. So thank you for that. :)
> 
> And finally a huge thank you to the lovely LuckyWantsToKnow for beta reading this long-ass thing for me and for putting up with me complaining about everything I write! I’m sorry Lucky. :)
> 
> *Extra Pillows is indeed code for “dial me up a hooker” at the right hotel, with the right concierge (so like 1% of the time!)  
> *There is a Seven Wives Inn in St George, Utah. It is in no way associated with my Six Wives Inn in this fic (please don’t sue me!)  
> *There are Black Bears at the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, although they are rare.  
> *Yes you can make a bong out of a Pringles can, if that’s your jam. Youtube is your friend.


	8. The half life of love is forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waverly, Wynonna and Chrissy race the clock to save Nicole from a painful death in the desert...

**Day** **8-10: Marble Canyon (AZ) - Flagstaff (AZ)** **  
**   

> Now Cinderella don’t you go to sleep  
>  It’s such a bitter form of refuge  
>  Oh, don’t you know the kingdom’s under siege?  
>  And everyone needs you.  
>    
>  — The Killers

 

Waverly wakes up inside of an oven. Or so it seems. 

The Mustang’s cabin is sweltering, the desert sun beating down through the windshield with unrestrained brutality. Heat licks at her face and chest.  
  
Holy shitballs is she thirsty. She tries to swallow but her throat is scratchy, like sandpaper. She sits up, still muzzy from sleep, and fumbles at her feet for her water bottle.  
  
It’s only then that she realizes the car is stationary.  
  
No wonder it’s so flipping hot.  
  
Outside she finds the hood up and the engine steaming. They must have hit car trouble. _Great._ Of all the goddamn places for that to happen…  
  
But where the heck are Nicole and Wynonna?  
  
She holds a hand up to shield her eyes from the intense white rays of the sun and surveys the hushed red landscape.  
  
A flash of movement catches her eye out in the middle of the desert, by a sagebrush bush. Wynonna and Nicole are down on the dirt, tangled up in each other. What the fudge?  
  
Chrissy appears beside her, rubbing at sleepy eyes and flapping at the neck of her sweat-sticky shirt. She follows Waverly’s gaze. “What in the blue blazes are those two idiots up to now?”  
  
“Eh, I dunno Chris.” Waverly gives a half-shrug. “Maybe they decided to sort their crap out once and for all with a throw-down in the desert?”  
  
Wynonna’s been such an epic pain-in-the-ass today she couldn’t really blame Nicole if she resorted to fisticuffs.  
  
Chrissy squints into the sun. “Huh. Looks more like they’re making out to me.”  
  
Waverly shoots her best friend a dirty look.  
  
Chrissy chuckles and holds her hands up in submission. “Kidding, kidding! Your explanation make _sooo_ much more sense, Waves babe.”  
  
Wynonna’s voice rings out, bellowing her name. Waverly’s gaze snaps back to the desert where her sister now stands upright, clutching Nicole to her side.  
  
There’s a plaintive, urgent note to Wynonna’s call that makes Waverly’s blood run cold. Something must be wrong, very wrong, for Wynonna to sound like that.  
  
And then she’s running, Chrissy on her heels, hurtling across the cracked red earth, racing to meet the other two as they stagger and stumble their way towards the Mustang.  
  
She’s blowing hard when she reaches them, the bone dry heat sapping her stamina. “What’s happened?” she gasps. Frantic, she runs her eyes over Nicole, looking for something, anything, to explain her sister’s distress.  
  
Something _is_ wrong. Nicole’s jaw is set hard, like she’s trying to clench through extreme pain, and she’s favoring one leg.  
  
“Now babygirl, don’t flip, but Haught here may have had an encounter with an itty, bitty snake.” Her sister’s steady, deliberate drawl is entirely at odds with the anguish blazing in her eyes.  
  
Oh god, no. “A snake?! What sort of snake?”  
  
Fear courses through her. Only yesterday she read in her guidebook that Arizona is the rattlesnake capital of the world.  
  
Nicole straightens and steps towards her, out of Wynonna’s grasp. “It’s okay Waves,” she soothes in a raspy voice. “I’m fine. It’s just a little scratch, I’ll see a doc—” Her left leg collapses under and her and she slumps forwards. Waverly and Chrissy lunge for her, catching her and holding her upright.  
  
In her arms Nicole burns hot like a furnace. Her breathing is ragged, syncopated. Waverly registers them then, the two jagged marks gouged in Nicole’s ankle, oozing bright red blood.  
  
She shoots a panic-stricken look at her sister. “What fricken’ _type_ of snake bit her, Wynonna?”  
  
“A rattlesnake,” Wynonna confesses, grimacing, dropping the pretense of calm. “A fucking big one too.”  
  
_Rattlesnake._ The word induces a sudden, intense tightness in her chest. For a moment she can’t breathe. She stares at her girlfriend in shock, takes in her swollen ankle and half-closed eyes. There’s poison coursing through her veins, right now, right this second. Poison that could kill.  
  
“Sweet jesus,” Chrissy murmurs.  
  
Wynonna tangles agitated fingers through her hair, mussing it, making it wild. “We have to get her to a hospital, stat. I-I need to get the Mustang running. There’s no time to stand around yammering like this.” Impatient, she slips a hand around Nicole’s waist, taking the redhead’s weight from them. She hustles Nicole back to the car, half-carrying her.  
  
Wynonna’s in mission mode from then on, all action. She settles Nicole in the rear of the Mustang and starts issuing orders.  
  
“Nedley junior, I need you to be my wing-woman, pass me my tools and keep a lookout for other cars.”  
  
Chrissy nods, her dazed expression giving way to one of determination. “Gotcha Wynonna.”  
  
Wynonna squeezes Waverly’s shoulder. “You take care of her babygirl. Keep her calm and don’t let her move.” She casts an agonized glance down at Nicole. “It was supposed to be me,” she says, voice rough, thick with guilt. “The rattler went for me but the idiot stuck her leg out in front of mine. Took the bite.” She gazes down tenderly at her best friend, one last time, before striding off in pursuit of tools.  
  
Oh Nicole…  
      
So selfless. So reckless. She’s not sure whether to be angry at, proud of, or thankful to her in that moment. The feelings war inside of her, tussle, just like they did back in Idaho.  
  
Waverly levers forward the front passenger seat and squeezes in behind it, settling herself in a position where she can keep watch over her girlfriend.  
  
It’s not exactly a reassuring view right now.  
  
Nicole’s condition is worsening by the minute. Her ankle has swollen to twice its normal size and there’s a red line streaking up her calf. She’s painted in sweat, her breathing is shallow and rapid, and the pulse in her neck is hammering at some insane speed.  
  
“My poor brave baby,” she whispers, kissing her cheek. She brushes some damp hair from Nicole’s forehead. “How are you feeling?”  
  
Nicole’s lashes flutter. Her eyes have a glazed, unfocused look to them. “Hurts,” she rasps, “burns.”    
  
A wave of helplessness washes over Waverly. She hates not having cell signal. She can’t do her research, can’t look up the best way to slow down the spread of the venom. She doesn’t even know if it’s safe to give Nicole some Advil to reduce the pain.  
  
Sighing in frustration she finds a disused t-shirt and wets it. She unbuttons Nicole’s Henley and dabs the damp material to her flushed chest and neck. She can relieve the heat, at least.  
  
“I’m sorry Waves,” Nicole says, voice cracking. She slow blinks up at Waverly, trying and failing to focus on her. “I’m sorry I made that stupid promise. I’m so, so, sorry. I don’t wanna fight anymore.”  
  
“Hush Nicole. None of that matters now.”  
  
It feels so petty, so pointless, this anger that she’s been carrying around all day.  
  
Holding onto it has felt like swimming against the current of her true feelings. Utterly exhausting. So Nicole made a bad call. Love is clumsy, people make mistakes. She knows that this thing between them is so much bigger than that.  
  
She can learn to live with the fact that Nicole loves Wynonna that little bit more. It’s not a competition. Nicole still loves her, that’s what counts.  
  
Waverly cradles Nicole’s face in her hands and presses gentle lips to the corner of Nicole’s mouth. Her skin there tastes like salt, burns hot like wildfire.  
  
“It doesn’t matter,” Waverly repeats.  
  
“It does matter, though.” Nicole flails around for Waverly’s hand. “I-I don’t want to scare you but I don’t feel good, baby. My head’s spinning like I don’t have enough air, and I can’t see proper, it’s goin’ dark.”  
  
_Jesus christ. She’s going blind?_  
  
Terror blooms in Waverly, thrashing at her, threatening to overwhelm her. She sucks in a deep, deep breath, and swallows it down. She can’t afford to lose it right now.  
  
Nicole attempts to sit up. She only makes it half-way. “I need you to know,” she says, a desperate fervor to her words, “if something happens…that I have never, ever, loved anyone...the way that I love you.”  
  
Something crumbles inside Waverly then. That last, stalwart wall she’d raised around her heart, turning to rubble.

Nicole reaches for her with trembling wrists, burying her damp face into her neck. “You’re special Waverly,” she breathes against her throat. “So smart. So beautiful. So damned brave. You’re gonna soar baby, soar like that falcon back there at the North Rim, high and free. You’re going to rattle the stars.”  
  
“Stop it Nicole,” Waverly pleads, fisting Nicole’s shirt. “Stop talking like you’re gonna fricken’ die. That’s not happening today.”  
  
She pulls Nicole to her, claiming her mouth. It’s a desperate, messy kiss; all clacking teeth and smushed noses, but Waverly puts everything into it, wants it to be a lightening kiss, something that can sustain life.  
  
She recalls Nicole’s honeyed words from the High Roller, that every time she kisses her it’s like the first time. She thinks from that moment on, if she gets the chance, she’s going to kiss Nicole like this, like it might be the _last_ time.  
  
Because today is teaching her that there’s no guarantee of a tomorrow.

When they part, she eases Nicole back down with careful hands and returns to cooling her flushed skin.  
  
Nicole’s breathing is even more labored now and she can’t help but notice that her ankle is turning a mottled blue. The swelling is creeping up her leg at a frightening rate, too.   

Outside, she can hear Wynonna banging and clanging away, swearing like a sailor.  
  
“Can’t breathe,” Nicole gasps suddenly, “so dark…” Her whole body jolts off the seat, like she’s having some sort of seizure, and her eyelids flutter closed.  
  
Fricking hell! Has she blacked out?  
  
“Dammit Nicole don’t you go to sleep on me. I _need_ you.” Waverly grabs Nicole’s shirt and shakes her hard, but her head just lolls. She’s out for the count.  
  
Terrified, she presses her ear to Nicole’s chest, listening for a heartbeat. It’s there. But it’s weak and slow.  
  
She kicks opens the Mustang’s door. “WYNONNA! She’s lost consciousness.”  
  
Wynonna pops her head around the side of the hood. There’s grease streaked down her cheeks. “Fuck. Hang tight, sis. I’m almost done.”  
  
So Waverly sits there, waiting, holding both of Nicole’s hands in hers, watching the ragged, uneven rise and fall of her chest, terrified that each one might be the last.  
  
Finally, after what feels like forever but is probably only a few minutes, Wynonna slams down the hood and she and Chrissy load into the front seats.  
  
“Hazaa,” Wynonna drawls. “One radiator hose taped and one coolant tank refilled. Now, let’s see if this puppy works without insta-melting.” She turns the key in the ignition. The starter motor ticks over the Mustang roars to life. Wynonna revs the engine, keeping it in neutral, her eyes fixed on the temperature gauge.  
  
Waverly holds her breath.  
  
When the indicator stays firmly in the blue Wynonna lets out a whoop. “Ding ding ding. We did it Nedley junior. Now, let’s get this pony on the road.”

Readying to leave, Wynonna grips the Mustang’s sunbaked steering wheel and yowls. “Fuck. I don’t think I can drive.” She holds up her palms so the other two can see. They’re an ugly mess: bright red, pulpy and blistering. 

Shitsticks. Wynonna must have burnt her hands working on the car’s engine while it was still hot. Her heart swells at her sister enduring that for Nicole. That’s love, right there.  
  
Waverly will have to drive, now, though. Which means leaving Nicole, a thought that’s near on unbearable. What if she needs her? What if she stops breathing while she isn’t by her side?  
  
“I’ll drive,” Chrissy ventures. “I’ve never driven stick before, but how hard can it be? It’s all the same once you get up to speed, right?”  
  
And so they set off, the Mustang lurching and jerking, bunny hopping like mad, gears grinding, as Chrissy figures out how to work a manual transmission on the fly.  
  
As always, her best friend’s a quick study. It’s not long before they’re hurtling down route 89 at breakneck pace, cops and potential speeding tickets be damned.  
  
Meanwhile Wynonna’s hanging out the front passenger window like a puppy, cell phone held aloft, poised and ready to hit 911 as soon a single bar of reception pops up on her screen.  
  
It’s agonizing, not knowing how long they’re going to be out of signal range for. But at least they’re heading towards a town now, Marble Canyon.  
  
Having eyes on Nicole isn’t enough for Waverly anymore. She crouches with her ear pressed against Nicole’s chest, listening to every ragged, rumbling breath and the whisper-soft cadence of her fading heart.  
  
_Not long now, baby. Not long. Stay with me._  
  
“Got it!” Wynonna hollers. Quick as a flash she dials up 911 and details their situation to the operator.  
  
“They’re sending paramedics our way, we should hit them in less than fifteen minutes.” Wynonna reports.  “They’ll be waiting for us at the Navajo Bridge, whatever the fuck that is.”  
  
It turns out to be a set of two steel arch bridges that span the Colorado river, two bridges that mark the beginning and the end of the remote Arizona Strip. The ambulance is there waiting on them in the parking lot of the Interpretative Center, lights blazing red and amber.  
  
Everything happens in a flurry after that, a flurry that makes Waverly’s head spin.  
  
Two kind-eyed paramedics in dark blue uniforms pepper them with questions. How long ago did Nicole get bitten? How long ago did she blackout? What did the snake look like? Did they take a picture?  
  
With the help of her phone Wynonna identifies the culprit as a Western rattler. This elicits a grim response. It’s a particularly dangerous sub-species that’ll require them to transport Nicole to a hospital in Flagstaff for the administration of the appropriate anti-venom.  
  
They transfer Nicole to a gurney and one of paramedics uses a sharpie to outline the current limit of her swelling, marking the time above it in big black digits. They make to load Nicole into the ambulance then, and both Earps attempt to follow.  
  
The taller paramedic holds up his hand. “I’m sorry ladies, there’s only enough space in here for one of you.”  
  
So there they stand, under the scorching desert sun, at an awkward crossroads, two women who love the same woman almost as much as they love each other.  
  
Wynonna scuffs her boot, drawing a wide arc in the dirt, eyes fixed on the ground. “You should go babygirl. She needs you.”  
  
It’s oh-so tempting to say yes. Because love has rendered her selfish, and the thought of being apart from Nicole right now is almost unendurable. But Waverly knows what Nicole would want, what Nicole would do, in this moment. The unselfish thing.  
  
“No, Wynonna. You go. Your hands…they need tending to.”

Wynonna’s gaze cuts up to meet hers, surprised and grateful. She hesitates, then nods. “I’ll look after her,” she promises.  
  
Waverly bends down and strokes Nicole’s cheek, drinking her in, one last time. Even ravaged by poison, Nicole’s still the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. She places a feather-lite kiss to her lips.  
  
“You keep fighting, Nicole Haught,” Waverly murmurs, brushing their noses together. “You better. For me. You promised me you’d always fight for us.” She tastes salt, knows it’s her own hot tears this time. “One day you’re going to be part of the sky, baby. But not today. _Not today.”_  
  
Then they’re gone, and Waverly’s left standing in a cloud of red desert dust, wondering if she just said a last goodbye to the girl she was meant to spend the rest of her life with.

///  
  
Waverly can’t stand emergency rooms.  
  
Not since she spent a long, fraught wait in one the night her daddy drove his truck off the Ghost River bridge, was put on a ventilator, and never woke up again.  
  
She hates the over-bright lights, the stuffiness, the feverish chaos, the anxiety and grief that hang, palpable, in the air.  
  
But most of all she hates the waiting. Patience has never been her strong suit.  
  
It’s been seven long hours since Nicole was bitten by the rattlesnake. Four hours since she was administered her first dose of anti-venom in the ICU of this hospital in Flagstaff. And there’s still no news. Just this horrible, interminable wait.  
  
Waverly doesn’t do coffee, but tonight she’s making an exception. She’s buzzing from the caffeine, a jittery, wired mess. She alternates between shredding the napkins that come with her espressos and trawling the web for any and all information on Western rattlesnake bites. It’s not reassuring reading.  
  
Wynonna, by contrast, is slumped in the plastic chair next to Waverly’s, staring down at her gauze wrapped hands, near catatonic.  
  
Chrissy’s busily buzzing around, fetching drinks and placing a string of calls through to Nicole’s dad. Chief Haught is on his way, on a three-flight transcontinental mad dash to reach his daughter.  
  
Nerves fraying, desperate to take some sort of action, Waverly reaches for her phone for the zillionth time that night. Wynonna sighs and grabs her wrist, intercepting her. “Cool your jets, babygirl. WebMD isn’t gonna have any answers they don’t have here.”  
  
“I know, but—”  
  
“Are you girls with Nicole Haught?”  
  
Waverly’s gaze snaps up from her phone. There’s a harried looking woman in blue scrubs standing before them. A doctor.  
  
_About fricken’ time._  
  
They both nod. Waverly grips the edge of her chair, her heart pounding in her ears. She tries to read the doctor’s face, to figure out if it’s good or bad news, but she’s inscrutable.  
  
“Let’s see.” The doctor consults her clipboard. “Now, because three hours elapsed between your friend being envenomated and receiving treatment she suffered some internal hemorrhaging, circulation issues and was close to respiratory failure. We’ve administered six vials of anti-venom, so far. That’s arrested the swelling in her leg and her vitals are improving. We’re hopeful she’ll wake up in the next few hours.”  
  
Wynonna’s brows knit. “So she’s going to be okay, is what you’re saying?”  
  
“Oh yes.” The doctor nods, like it was never in question. “Rattler bites rarely end in fatalities these days, the anti-venom is highly effective.”  
  
“Thank fuck.” Wynonna slumps down in her chair.  
  
“When can we see her?” Waverly demands, a ball of impatient energy, itching to go to Nicole right this second.  
  
The doctor checks her notes again and frowns. “Soon. We’ll let you know when.” And then she scurries off just as abruptly as she arrived.  
  
Relief and elation surge through Waverly. That crushing, tight sensation in her chest eases some and she draws in an exulted breath.  
  
_Nicole’s going to be okay. Everything’s going to be okay. Thank god._  
  
Beside her, Wynonna’s eyes are glassy. She’s biting down hard on her lip, fighting back tears.  
  
“Jesus Waves,” she chokes, “I thought we’d lost her…and it was all my fault. She followed me out into that fucking desert like a lost puppy…we weren’t paying attention…we were fighting about this… _thing_ …between the two of you…”  
  
Wynonna stares down at her bandaged hands, studying them, a grim expression on her face.  
  
“…I was such a jackhole to her all day…and then she went and did… _that_.” She shakes her head, blue eyes full of remorse. “Hashtag, world’s suckiest best friend.”  
  
Her big sister looks so broken in that moment, wracked by guilt. It hurts Waverly’s heart. This is what Wynonna does: goes from zero to a hundred in the self-blame game, until she takes the whole world on her shoulders.  
  
Yes, she was giant asshat today, but she can hardly be held responsible for something as random as a rattlesnake bite.  
  
Waverly reaches for Wynonna, smothers her in a fierce hug. “Hush. It’s okay, sweetie. Of course this isn’t your fault. It was just bad luck that snake was out there.” She combs soothing fingers through her sister’s hair. “And Nicole loves you Wynonna. Really, _really_ loves you. She’d do anything for you.” She smiles sadly. “Hell, I think she’d flipping give me up, if you asked her to.”  
  
Wynonna breaks free of Waverly’s hug and looks at her askance. “I would never do that.” She picks at the fraying hem of her _Whiskey, Tango, Foxtrot_ t-shirt, shamefaced. “I know I haven’t been the biggest fan of this thing between the two of you…”  
  
Waverly snorts. Understatement of the freaking year.  
  
“…I’ll try and do better. I mean, it’s still weird. Who the fuck do I even give the shovel talk to? But I trust her to be careful with you. Because she’s in hella deep babygirl. She’s _in love_ ,” Wynonna makes a grossed-out face. “The idiot couldn’t wait to blabber it to me at the Iron Pony.”  
  
Waverly beams. A lightness settles over her at the thought of Nicole proclaiming her love for her to Wynonna.  
  
There is something so damned beautiful about the way Nicole wears her heart on her sleeve; that fearlessness, that vulnerability, that refusal to live her life anything but on her own open-hearted terms, come what may.  
  
Wynonna searches Waverly’s face, frowning, blue eyes pensive. “You’re not going to hurt her are you, Waves? You’re not just messing around with her, experimenting, or something?” Her gaze falters. “’Cos she’s all-in on you…and she’s not as tough as she likes to make out—”  
  
“’Course I’m not going to hurt her Wynonna!” Waverly bristles. “I-I really like her.”     
  
Wynonna’s brows knit. “You _like_ her? That’s not exactly the heart-eyes and overshare of schmaltzy love I got from your girlfriend, babygirl.”    
  
Well snap. It’s sweet, Wynonna’s being all protective of Nicole, but it’s also scary, because it’s putting her on the spot.  
  
“I-I think I do,‘Nonna.” Waverly ducks her head, evading Wynonna’s piercing gaze. “I think I love her.”  
  
Shoot, who’s she kidding? After today, she doesn’t _think_ it, she _knows_ it. Nicole’s been laying siege to her heart for years. She lost the battle long ago. She doesn’t have a choice in this, she never did. She can’t draw up a plan, brainstorm a strategy, to keep her heart safe. The blasted disobedient thing has already gone and given itself away.  
  
Wynonna squeezes Waverly’s knee. “That’s good. But you haven’t told her yet, have you?”  
  
“No,” she admits, whisper quiet. “I’m too fricken’ scared.”  
  
“Oh babygirl,” Wynonna drawls, eyes tender. “I get that. I really do. When someone leaves you once, you expect it to happen again. When a lot of people do it a lot of times…well, yeah. It sucks balls. But you need to bury the people that’ve left us. It’s time to make space in here,” she taps Waverly’s heart, “for new people. Better people. And if there’s one thing I know about Nicole Haught, it’s that she’s _not_ the leaving kind.”  
  
Waverly nods. “I know,” she squeaks.    
  
Nicole may not be the leaving kind, but Waverly still nearly lost her today.    
  
She grieves for every squandered second they were apart the last twenty-four hours, fighting. Then she grieves for every squandered moment they spent apart when they should’ve been together, these last years.  
  
So much wasted time.  
  
She scans the bustling emergency room, desperate to set eyes on that doctor. As nice as it’s been sharing a rare serious moment with her sister, all she wants right now is to be by Nicole’s side.  
  
There’s no sign of the doctor but she does spot Chrissy over by the canteen, chatting up a beefcake in a football uniform with his arm in a sling. Trust her best friend to find a boy in a place like this.  
  
“I’m sorry about Mama,” Wynonna murmurs.  
  
Waverly cuts her gaze back to her sister, startled. Apparently she’s not done with the real talk yet.  
  
“I should’ve been more forthcoming about her whereabouts.” Wynonna rubs the back of her neck, ill at ease, in a way that reminds Waverly of Nicole. “It’s just…when I saw her…she didn’t recognize me. Didn’t _want_ to know me…”  
  
Wynonna stalls, eyes brimming with pain. Waverly sees it then, just how much that visit hurt her sister. She’s never handled rejection well.  
  
“…but Haught’s right. You’re strong Waverly. It’s time you made your own decisions. So if you want to see her,  I won’t stop you. Hell, we can go to Toronto together, have ourselves another wild-ass, crazy road trip.”  
  
Waverly knows how much it costs Wynonna, to make that offer. Her sister’s not one to readily revisit people or places that have bruised her heart.  
  
“Thank you ‘Nonna. That means a lot.” She smiles and swipes at a spot of engine grease that’s still smeared across her sister’s cheekbone.  
  
A shadow falls over them, interrupting their moment.  
  
It’s the doctor with her clipboard, appearing out of thin air, just like before.  
  
She nods at them. “Your friend isn’t awake yet. But you can go sit with her. It’s ward 8B.”  
  
_Finally._  
  
///  
  
Consciousness trickles back to Nicole in disjointed, fleeting snatches.  
  
Darkness fades to red, then ebbs back to black. She hears voices, unfamiliar, close, then distant. A beeping noise too, steady like a metronome, piercing, then indistinct again.      
  
Then familiar sensations: a soft, warm form burrowed into her side, moist breath tickling her neck, the faint, commingled scent of strawberries and summer.  
  
_Waverly._  
  
Her eyes snap open. She’s assaulted by too-bright light, so white, so dazzling, it stings.  
  
Disorientated, her vision swirling, she struggles to recall what hotel, what city, they’ve stopped over in tonight.    
  
She blinks, rapid-fire, and the world finally resolves around her.  
  
She absorbs the narrow bed, the shrill, pulsing monitors, and the tubes inserted into her wrist and chest.  
  
Hospital.  
  
Then it all comes back in a rush: fighting with Wynonna in the desert, the rattler, pain like no other, fading to black in the Mustang, Waverly’s anguished eyes…  
  
“Haughtdamn you made it!”  
  
Nicole angles her head to the side. Wynonna’s perched on the edge of a chair to her left, her hand clasped around Nicole’s. There’s a tenderness in her best friend’s eyes that Nicole’s unaccustomed to seeing.  
  
Nicole tries to speak, but the sound that comes out is an indecipherable rasp. Her throat is bone dry. It feels like someone’s shoved cotton wool down it. She tries again.  
  
“Are you holding my hand, Earp?” she croaks out.  
  
Wynonna snatches her hand away. “That never happened, Haught.” She smiles a soft smile and promptly threads their fingers back together, squeezing hard, like she’s trying to convince herself Nicole is real.    
  
Nicole registers everyone else then. She’s surrounded by the people she loves, all fast asleep bar Wynonna. Her father’s here somehow, passed out in an uncomfortable looking chair to her right, and Chrissy is curled up in a chair at the foot of the bed, snorting.    
  
And Waverly…  
  
Waverly is sharing the narrow bed with her. She’s snuggled close into Nicole’s side, asleep, her face tucked into her neck, her arms clutched tight-in to her own chest, presumably so as not to disturb Nicole’s tubes.    
  
“She’s totally not supposed to be there,” Wynonna muses. She shakes her head at her sister, casting her an indulgent, exasperated glance. “But, eh, it’s Waves…she’s already got the nurses in this place wrapped around her little finger, so…” Her gaze flicks back to Nicole. “How are you feeling, dude?”  
  
Honestly, she’s not feeling much of anything. Other than this weird floating sensation…  
  
“Super spacey.”  
  
“That’d be the drugs.” Wynonna nods, smirking. “You’re high as a kite. They’ve got ya on the real good stuff. Morphine.” She stares at Nicole’s drip covetously.  
  
Nicole rubs at gritty eyes. “What time is it? How long I have been out?”  
  
There’s one tiny window in this cavernous room. Light streaks through it, pink-gold and dappled, hinting at early morning.  
  
“It’s the ass crack of dawn,” Wynonna drawls, sounding unimpressed. “Almost 7am. You’ve been out for sixteen hours straight, sleeping beauty.”  
  
Well shit. That’s a hella long time. She surveys her best friend. From the dark smudges under her eyes it’s clear she hasn’t slept a wink overnight. There’s grease smeared haphazardly across her cheeks, and for the first time Nicole notices that her hands are wrapped in thin, white gauze. “What happened to your hands Earp?”  
  
Wynonna glances down at them. “Eh, so it turns out your whole schtick about fixing still-hot engines being a shitty idea might have been right,” she admits in a small voice.  
  
Nicole recalls Wynonna’s fierce pledge to get her out of that desert, no matter what. The way she carried her back to the Mustang, all action, a human hurricane. She winces imagining her best friend barbecuing her hands working in that sizzling hot engine bay. She’d come through for Nicole, just like she promised, but at a cost.     
  
She swallows down a lump in her throat. “I love you Wynonna.”  
  
Wynonna’s gaze whips up to meet hers. Fondness flickers in her grey-blue eyes. “I know.”    
  
Nicole can’t help but smile at that. Jeez, what’s a girl gotta do to get an _I love you_ out of these Earp women?  
  
“I’m sorry I left it so long to tell you about Waverly,” she continues, voice still hoarse, but feeling the need to put this to bed, once and for all. “I was scared I’d lose you, so I kept putting it off…and it seemed pointless…because I never thought she’d want me back.”  
  
That’s the real, honest truth there. For so long, she was sure that she was destined to spend her life loving Waverly Earp quietly, from afar. It hadn’t seemed worth risking her friendship with Wynonna to confess to something that would never be reciprocated.  
  
“Of course she wanted you back Nicole,” Wynonna says, whisper-soft. Then she flashes a crooked smile, slipping out of serious-mode. “I keep telling you numbnuts, those fucking dimples are so lethal they’d charm the skirt off a nun.” She shakes her head in faux-despair. “My poor baby sis didn’t stand a chance.”  
  
Nicole’s gaze drops to Waverly, sleeping peacefully beside her. She looks near-angelic, the pink-gold light of dawn playing with her hair like some sort of covetous lover.  
  
“I won’t clip her wings, Wynonna,” she says, fervent. “I’ll give her up before I do that. I swear to you.”  
  
Her best friend frowns and she levels Nicole with a long, piercing look. Finally, she gives a curt nod. “Okay then.”  
  
Two small, simple words. But they mean everything to Nicole. They signal acceptance, a tacit blessing of this thing between her and Waverly, at last.  
  
“So Papa Haughtstuff made the trip,” Wynonna drawls, settling back in her chair. She waggles her brows lewdly, eyeing Nicole’s father. “You know, the actually _hot_ Haught. My favorite DILF.”  
  
Holy crap, here we go…  
  
“Wynonna!” she warns, fighting back a grin. “Please don’t be flirting with my poor ol’ dad again. You know he can’t handle your shit.”    
  
“Oh, I think he’s up for it. Just think Haught, I could be your stepmother one day.”  
  
“Don’t even—”  
  
Waverly makes a rumbling sound and stirs beside Nicole. She yawns into the back of her hand, still muzzy with sleep, stretches, and then seems to recollect where she is. Her gaze snaps up to check on Nicole. She startles when she realizes she’s awake.  
  
Shocked hazel eyes meet hers. Unguarded love flickers in them for the briefest of moments, smashing into Nicole, leaving her raw. It’s the kind of look that drives the breath clear out of her lungs and steals her sense of words.    
  
Then Waverly pounces on her, climbing on top of her and peppering her face with kisses, over and over again, until she exhausts herself.    
  
Finally she rests her forehead against Nicole’s and rubs their noses together, tender-like.  
  
“I thought I’d lost you,” Waverly whimpers. She sits back, a storm swirling in her eyes now. “You scared the shit out of me, you reckless idiot.” She pokes a gentle finger into Nicole’s chest. “Don’t ever do that again.”  
  
Nicole blinks up at her, contrite. “I’m not plannin’ on it, baby.”  
  
Waverly leans in and kisses her properly then, on the mouth.  
  
It can’t be the most pleasant experience for her. Nicole’s lips are rough and chapped, and she knows her mouth tastes sickly sweet from the drugs they’ve been pumping her full of. But it doesn’t seem to faze the brunette, she kisses Nicole with a ferocious intensity, like she’s trying to make every second of it count, as if it’s their last kiss, ever.     
  
Wynonna makes a gagging noise.  
  
“Ew, gross, get a room you two…” She falters, pondering on that. “You know what, actually, on second thoughts, please don’t…just stop…”  
  
///

Hospital food is dire.  
  
Nicole pushes the thing masquerading as a Western omelet around on her plate, apathetic. It tastes like burnt rubber and bears an alarming resemblance to the deconstructed Mexican food Wynonna hurls up after one too many whiskeys.  
  
It’s midday, and only her dad remains by her bedside now. The other three have gone to a hotel in downtown Flagstaff, to shower and catch a few hours of much needed shut-eye in a proper bed.  
  
Her dad’s keeping a constant vigil. Even though the danger’s well past there’s a wariness to the way he holds himself, like he’s afraid that if he turns away, just for a second, Nicole might vanish. It’s a state she’s gotten used to over the years, this fretful vigilance of his. She’s not the only one her mother did a number on.  
  
Nicole hates putting him through an ordeal like this. He’s paranoid enough as it is.  
  
She skewers a piece of rubbery egg. “You didn’t have to come all the way down here, you know, Dad.”  
  
He looks at her askance. “My only child got bit by a rattler and almost died, of course I came Nicole!”  
  
She surveys him. Maybe it’s just the long night and all the travel, but he looks thinner and frailer than he did nine days ago. His dark hair is in disarray and he’s desperately in need of a shave. His heathered grey Purgatory Fire Department t-shirt hangs loose on his shoulders, baggy around the waist.  
  
“You been eating properly?” She arches a brow, a smile playing on her lips. “You didn’t put tin foil in the microwave and blow it up again, did ya?”    
  
He chuckles. “One time kiddo, that was one time!”  
  
He shoots her a knowing look. “So, Waverly, huh?” he prods, with a big ol’ grin on his face, deflecting the conversation away from his shitty cooking. “Didn’t half take you long enough.”  
  
Nicole ducks her head, embarrassed. Waverly hadn’t exactly been subtle with the PDA in front of her dad earlier. Not that she minded, but…  
  
“I’m glad Nicole.” He reaches out and squeezes her hand. “That girl’s a sweetheart. A serious firecracker, but a sweetheart…”  
  
His approval comes as no surprise, he’s always had a soft spot for the younger Earp…and her banana muffins.  
  
“So,” he continues, “a little birdie told me this trip has been _quite_ the wild ride so far. Something about a bar brawl in Idaho…a marriage proposal in Vegas…”  
  
Nicole snorts. “Let me guess, does the little birdie in question have a penchant for tacos, whiskey-themed t-shirts, and an awkward crush on you, by any chance?”  
  
He grins. “Could do, yes.” The corners of his mouth turn down and his expression becomes sober. “The docs here tell me you’ll be out of this place in another day or two. I’ve been thinkin’ on it, and well…”  
  
He rubs the back of his neck, radiating uneasiness. Nicole can tell he’s about to say something she won’t like.  
  
“…I think you should come home, Nicole. Cut this road trip short.” He levels her with beseeching brown eyes. “I think you’ve been through enough, out here…without adding Dallas to that list.”  
  
Her stomach knots. She didn’t expect this. Maybe she should’ve, though. Not for the first time, she wonders if he’s holding something back about her mother, deliberately keeping a piece of the puzzle to himself.  
  
“What are you not telling me?” She frowns, scrutinizing his face carefully for clues.  
  
He sighs and scrubs at the stubble on his chin. “It’s not my story to tell, kiddo…but let’s just say, I reckon there are some things it’s better you _didn’t_ know.”  
  
Her temper flares, annoyed at his evasiveness, his paternalism. Then a wave of shame washes over her, because those are the same words she spoke to Waverly in St George, about _her_ mother. It’s ironic, and humbling, having them thrown back at her. She knows her father’s just trying to protect her, like she and Wynonna were trying to protect Waverly, but it still hurts.  
  
Nicole clenches her jaw. “I can’t, Dad. I’m sorry. I’ve come this far, I’m seeing this thing through to the bitter end.”  
  
Damned if she’s quitting now. It’s not in her nature to give up on something when she’s this close to the finish line.  
  
He nods, resigned. “I thought you’d say that.” He clutches her hand in both of his, sadness in his eyes. “Remember kiddo, I’m here for you, though, whenever you need me.”  
  
There’s a quiet steadiness to her father that she adores. He’s always been there to catch her when she falls. But this time, he’ll be thousands of miles away.  
  
If she falls, and it sounds like she might, she’ll have to find her wings, learn how to fly.

///  
  
“Baby, I’m really not sure it’s a good idea for you to be out here like this, so soon.”  
  
Waverly watches on, concerned, as Nicole fusses with a striped picnic blanket and some cushions, arranging them just so on the coarse black gravel.  
  
“I told you Waves…I’m fine. I’ve been cooped up in that hospital room for two days straight. I’ve been going stir crazy.” Nicole blinks imploringly at Waverly. “I _need_ this.”  
  
Waverly sighs and nods, defeated. There’s not much point in fighting it when Nicole gets her heart set on something like this.  
  
Nicole was discharged from the hospital three hours ago. She might be out, but she’s far from completely recovered. Her left ankle remains swollen, and she’s on super strong painkillers.     
  
Still, pining for the great outdoors, she’d sweet-talked Waverly into driving the two of them twenty miles north of Flagstaff, to the Painted Desert Vista, a scenic outlook with dazzling views over the pastel pink desert.  
  
They’d offloaded Wynonna and Chrissy at a bourbon bar in central Flagstaff. Waverly doesn’t want to think too hard on what sort of wild shenanigans the two of them might be getting up to, left to their own devices in a town with more than one bar.

Please god, let it not involve the law. 

Nicole pats the spot next to her and Waverly joins her down on the picnic blanket. They lie together, drinking in the sunset in contented silence, Waverly tucked into Nicole’s side like a comma, her head nestled on Nicole’s shoulder, their hands linked, fingers interlocking.  
  
The sun is a perfect ruby-red disc, sinking lower and lower in the lilac sky until it’s cut in half by the horizon. Then the badlands catch fire, the desert hills alight with flaming pink, tangerine and magenta.

It’s a spectacular sight, a once in a lifetime sunset, perhaps, so beautiful it steals Waverly’s breath away, makes her chest ache. She’s grateful that Nicole’s still here, by her side, to see it at all.

“So...I had lots of time to browse the web while I was stuck in that danged room,” Nicole drawls, breath deliciously warm against Waverly’s ear. “And it so happens that Flagstaff is one of the top five places in the world to stargaze, and this outlook is one of the top five places in Flagstaff to do said stargazing.”  
  
It seems her girlfriend came armed with a plan tonight.

She beams up at Nicole, impressed. “Well look at you baby, doing your research.”  
  
A breeze stirs then, rustling the pinyon pines around them; a surprisingly cold breeze, so cold it sends Waverly into a fit of shivers.  
  
Nicole makes a _tsk-tsk_ sound. “You gotta learn to dress for the conditions Waves. You’re as bad as your sister. That crop top is _not_ appropriate attire for out here.” Chivalrous as always, Nicole removes her own sweater and slips it over Waverly’s head.  
  
“It’s the flipping desert! It’s supposed to be hot,” Waverly grumbles. She shrugs her arms into the sweater, reveling in the snugness of it, the scent of vanilla that lingers in it, the warmth from Nicole’s body still trapped within it.  
  
“The desert gets cold at night, baby. Real cold.” Nicole snaps her fingers. “Hang on a sec, I brought something else that’ll warm you up.” She rises and hobbles over to the Mustang, returning a moment later with a thermos.  
  
Nicole pours her a piping hot cup of something that turns out to be her favorite kind of chai.  
  
Waverly can’t help but swoon a little. “Wow, you really did plan this out.”  
  
Appreciative, and feeling a sudden, desperate urge for more contact, she climbs on top of Nicole, pressing the redhead down into the blanket. She traces the contours of Nicole’s face with the very edge of her fingertips, studying her in the fading, lilac-tinged desert light, wanting to commit every line, every hollow, every eyelash, every barely-there freckle to memory.  
  
This, this here, is all she needs. In this moment she’s convinced that as long as she has Nicole, then somehow nothing can ever be wrong again.  
  
Nicole looks up at her, a soft, dimpled smile blooming. “As pretty as this view is Waves,” she says, her words coming like honey, “we’re ‘sposed to be stargazing.”  
  
Right, stargazing…  
  
They lie side-by-side, fingers entangled, as the enormous desert sky fades to amethyst, then obsidian, then finally velvet black, and the pale half-moon and the pinprick stars blaze down upon them.  
  
“Look, there’s Polaris.” Waverly points out the North Star, burning brightly.  
  
“Which one is it?” Nicole asks, squinting into the night.  
  
Waverly takes Nicole’s hand in hers and lifts it towards the sky, marking the star. “See that constellation that looks like a baby bear. Polaris is at the tip of its tail.” Waverly guides Nicole’s hand to the south-west. “And look, there’s Aquila. It’s shaped like an eagle. In Greek mythology Aquila was the thunderbolt carrier for Zeus.”  
  
It turns out Nicole isn’t very well versed in the stars, so Waverly gives her a crash course, pointing out each constellation and explaining the Greek, Roman, or Egyptian mythology behind each of them.

There’s something near-hypnotic about the experience. They fall into a sort of rapture, the stars, burning infinite above them; Waverly’s hushed voice the only sound swelling the sweet desert air; their clasped hands, bathed silver by the moon, reaching up into the sky.

“That bright star there is Sirius, it’s part of Canis Major…”  
  
Waverly trails off. Because Nicole’s not paying attention to the stars anymore, she’s staring at Waverly, a dopey, adoring expression on her face. She arches an amused brow at her girlfriend. “What happened to ‘we’re here to stargaze’ Nic, huh?”  
  
Nicole props herself up on elbow. “You distracted me with your sexy brain, baby,” she says, with that delicious lilt in her voice. “I love how much you know about this, about everything. I love your curiosity. Your insatiable appetite for knowledge. It’s amazing.”  
  
Waverly ducks her head, her cheeks burning. She’s not used to this, somebody appreciating this part of her. Loving it, even.  
  
“Really?”  
  
Nicole tilts Waverly’s chin back up with her thumb. She leans in and places a brief, barely-there-kiss to her lips. “Really,” she whispers against Waverly’s mouth, breath hot and sweet.    
  
Waverly beams. “Eh, well, I did go through a pretty epic astronomy phase back in tenth grade.”  
  
“I remember,” Nicole drawls, a smile in her voice. “You sent me texts with random facts about stars and Greek dudes whenever you discovered something new, for weeks.”

Nicole hobbles to her feet.

“Dance with me, Waverly?” She holds out her hand, beckoning to her. “Dance with me under the stars.”  
  
Seriously?  
  
“Are you out of your flipping mind, you cheeseball? You can’t dance with your leg like that.” She crosses her arms over her chest and shakes her head, vehement. “Nope, not happening. Nuh-uh.”  
  
“Oh c’mon Waves, I’m fine. We don’t have to move around much, just sway a little.” Nicole offers her hand again and slow blinks down at Waverly. “Pretty please?”  
  
Well fudge, how the heck is she supposed to resist _that_ ?  
  
“Ugh, fine…but don’t blame me when you end up back in the hospital, you romantic idiot.”  
  
Waverly takes Nicole’s hand. Then they’re dancing cheek to cheek, revolving slowly, eyes closed, painted in silver moonlight. No music, just the soft hush of their footsteps and the faint chirp of a lone cricket somewhere in the distance.  
  
Nicole’s holding her so close, Waverly swears she can feel their hearts beating in time. In the dark, the distance, the difference, between them seems to dwindle and vanish. For a moment it feels like neither one of them exists anymore; for a moment, they are one single entity.  
  
Nicole breaks the spell, drawing back, just the slightest bit.

She cups Waverly’s cheek in one hand and gazes down at her. “I made a mistake, Waves. I-I don’t know if I should’ve made that promise to Wynonna, if there was another way to get her back. But I _do_ know that I should never have said that there are things it’s better you didn’t know. That was patronizing, and wrong…”  
  
She brushes a stray lock of hair back behind Waverly’s ear, her touch ever-so-gentle.  
  
“…I swear to you, in the future, I will always, always, be honest with you. I’ll never keep anything from you..and I love your sister, I do, but I need you to know…that with me, you come first.”  

Shoot, maybe she’s a teeny, tiny bit competitive after all, because she can’t deny the joy that blooms in her chest at Nicole’s words.  
  
She lets go then. Lets herself fall, fall like she’s never been left before, like she’s never been hurt before.  
  
She loves Nicole, can feel that love straining at her insides, desperate for release, for confession.  
  
But for once, she’s going to be patient, she’s going to bide her time. She doesn’t want Nicole to think she’s saying those three words as some sort of knee-jerk response to her near-death in the desert, or out of gratitude for putting her life on the line for her sister.  
  
No, she’ll wait for a quiet, ordinary moment. So that when she says it, Nicole knows that she means it, really means it.

Instead, she confesses the other thing that’s been clawing at her insides, desperate to get out.

“Please don’t leave me,” she says, in a bare whisper.

 _Please don’t be like all the rest of them._  
  
Nicole startles. “I would never. Remember...”  
  
She presses a tender hand to Waverly’s heart, holds it there. The silver moon dances in her solemn eyes.  
  
“...you and me, baby...we’re _forever.”_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, all good! No killing off the main character... 
> 
> I'm not sure how well this chapter stands on its own. It's just all the resolution from the previous one in essence! So consider it one 25K chapter in two parts, because I ran out of time. :) In case it isn't obvious, this whole snake bite arc is a play on the widow bite from season two. 
> 
> Apologies if some of this reads a little rough, I battled a migraine writing most of it. It's a rare and peculiar form of torture trying to think creatively through one of those, as many of you will know. And writing pretty tends to go out of the window. Anyway, it's done. I may go back and edit this one at some stage, however.
> 
> So what’s coming up next? Texas baby. In the next chapter we’re going to cover the last stretch of road before hitting Dallas. We’ll get our second titular I love you (*cough* finally Waverly), Nicole’s going to open up about her past, and there will be the second bit of proper smut for this fic. In theory it’s supposed to be a quieter, gentler chapter, but it’s me, I’m sure I’ll end up throwing in some hijinks and batshit crazy drama. I just can’t help myself. I’ve already got some ideas…
> 
> Thank you guys, so much for sticking it out with me, and not killing me after I almost killed Nicole. ;) It’s been a long ride now and it’s been a genuine pleasure sharing it with you all.
> 
> And, again, a very big thank you to LuckyWantsToKnow for beta reading this mini-chapter for me, much of it at short notice.


	9. Let me shipwreck in your thighs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waverly just wants to make sweet love, Wynonna saves a life and meets her soulmate Ham Solo, Chrissy masters a bull at a fair in the Texas Panhandle, and Nicole battles her demons past as Dallas looms larger. 
> 
> This one's more of a serious slow dance, I hope you stay with me. :) A warning for mature content (long sex scene) towards the end, so if that's not your jam, you've been warned.

**Day 10-12: Flagstaff (AZ) — Palo Duro Canyon (TX)**

 

> and every wound  
>  you own  
>  is beautiful  
>  to me
> 
> — James Diaz, from “Oh Friend”

  
Nicole’s never been one to wish for much, and she’s too hard-bitten to believe in magic.

But lying here tonight, blanketed in the hushed darkness of the Painted Desert, constellations in her eyes, Waverly Earp snuggled into her side, it’s hard to resist the notion that maybe, just maybe, there’s some magic to these stars, to this life, after all.

So when a white star plummets from the blue-black Arizona sky above them, she gazes down at Waverly, heart full, and makes a silent half-wish, half-promise on that dying star.

_I won’t be like the others. I will love you longer and stronger than all of those people that left you._

Waverly’s whispered plea to “never leave her” has been replaying on a loop in Nicole’s mind ever since they quit dancing. She likes to think she’s pretty perceptive, but the rawness, the vulnerability implicit in it, had caught her off guard. Turns out that sunny exterior of Waverly’s masks cracks that run even deeper than Nicole realized, deep as canyons.

Her response, her promise of forever, weighs heavily on her too. She meant it, and she’s going to fight like hell for it, but forever is a tough word to honor. Even the stars are transient, fleeting things that twinkle like fireflies before turning to dust.

_Like this one just now..._

She holds her hand up to the night sky. “Did you catch that shooting star, baby? It dropped right out of Cygnus.”

“Shooting stars aren’t real stars, silly.” Waverly steeples her hand to Nicole’s, so that their palms and fingers are lined up, held aloft in perfect symmetry. “They’re itty bitty lumps of rock that burn up and glow as they collide with the Earth’s atmosphere.”

“Oh.” Well snap, that’s embarrassing. She just vowed everlasting love on a pile of space junk. “Way to kill the romantic moment there, Waves.”

“Oopsies.” Waverly nuzzles her nose into the hollow above Nicole’s collarbone, smiling.

Nicole sighs in contentment. She wants to lie like this all night, wrapped up in each other’s arms, sipping at the skyline until the stars dim and the first peach-gold blush of sunrise warms their skin.

Waverly, though, has other ideas. She starts kissing a languid, oddly-precise path up the inside of Nicole’s forearm.

“W-what are you doin’ Waves?”

Waverly blinks up at her through long lashes. “I’m measuring exactly how many kisses it takes to get from your wrist to your elbow.”

She says it like it’s the most natural thing in the world, but Nicole knows better. Ever since she got out of hospital Waverly keeps doing this intense staring thing, like she’s trying to commit every fiber of Nicole’s being to some sort of internal database. And now this…

“You don’t need to do that, baby…” She takes Waverly’s hand and presses a soothing kiss to her palm. “I told you, I’m not going anywhere.”

Waverly nods, but even in the pale moonlight Nicole can make out the doubt that lingers in her eyes. The rattlesnake bite has unsettled her, inflamed old insecurities. She hates that she’s responsible for that, but the alternative, Wynonna getting bit, would’ve been worse.

Waverly’s mood shifts. She climbs on top of Nicole, pinning her in place between her thighs. “I don’t wanna stare at the stars anymore Nic,” she husks. She slips both hands beneath the thin cotton of Nicole’s t-shirt. “I want…I _need_ …to feel close to you.”

Well, that’s gotta be better than counting her eyelashes or whatever the heck Waverly was planning on cataloging next, she supposes.

Waverly leans ever lower over her until the stars are obliterated and Nicole’s entire world narrows to hazel eyes dark with desire.

Then Waverly’s mouth dips to meet hers and it’s unlike anything that’s come before. It’s not at all the desperate, hungry _taking_ she expects. This kiss is slow and sweet; less firestorm, more warm summer rain. She’s been waiting for a whole-hearted kiss like this from Waverly for so damned long, one that transcends pure lust and hints at something more.

Waverly’s hands are patient and oh-so-gentle, too. Her palms settle on Nicole’s ribs, her nails penning words on her skin that Nicole can’t quite make out. She thinks one of them might be forever.

The sweetness of that breaks her, has her moaning into Waverly’s mouth. For once it’s Nicole that loses control first, that surrenders to this ever-present heat between them. She pushes up, deepening their kiss, and knots her fingers in Waverly’s hair, ruining what remains of her messy bun, her touch frantic, fevered, grasping.

“God I missed this,” Waverly sighs when they part, resting her forehead against Nicole’s. “It really was a nightmare, fighting with you.” She brushes the tips of their noses together, eskimo style, and smiles. “Let’s never do it again.”

Nicole chuckles. That sounds like a mighty tall order given Waverly’s fiery ways.

“Sure, baby, whatever you—”

Waverly cuts her off, claiming Nicole’s lips in another slow-burn kiss. She slides cool palms down Nicole’s sternum, her touch covetous and careful, like she’s still trying to reassure herself that Nicole’s really here, alive and intact beneath her.

Finally, after what feels like the longest kiss on record, Waverly pulls back, her breathing ragged. She makes purposeful, prolonged eye contact, one hand slipping lower and lower between them until she hits upon Nicole’s belt.

Damn, the way Waverly’s looking at her right now, with desire so acute it verges on despair, and jesus her fingers...her fingers are trembling as she works desperately to unbuckle that belt.

It’s clear where Waverly’s going with this, and Nicole gets it. What better affirmation of life than to make love out here in the desert, in the wild, under this canopy of stars?

She gives a little nod of acquiescence and that’s all the invitation Waverly needs. She tugs at Nicole’s belt, rumbling in victory when she overcomes the buckle.

But then Nicole’s pocket lights up, bathing the two of them in a soft electric blue glow. A beat later a shrill ding sounds.

Dammit. It’s her phone, and odds on it’s Wynonna with her usual impeccable timing.

“Oh, you have gotta be freaking _kidding me_ ,” Waverly growls. “That better not be who I think it is.”

Nicole reaches for her phone but Waverly catches her wrist, stilling her. “Just ignore her Nic, please?”

She frowns. “But what if they’re at the cop-shop? Or they’ve been kidnapped and taken to some dude’s murder shed…or—”

Nicole’s phone chirps and vibrates again as another slew of texts arrives, underscoring her concerns.

Defeated, Waverly curses under her breath and collapses onto the blanket beside Nicole. “Fiiine. But if she’s ruining our sexy times because she’s got the goddamned munchies again and wants us to do a midnight run to Del Taco, I’m gonna kill her.”

“Noted.” Nicole sits up and unlocks her phone, swiping to bring up the first message. It is from Wynonna and it’s just three words: _Locos Tacos Supreme._

_Uh-oh._

Waverly peeks over her shoulder and huffs. “See, I told you! A Taco Bell order…and not even a please or thank you. Who does she think we are, Uber Eats? Honestly, that sister of mine!” She stares down at Nicole’s phone like she’s trying to vaporize Wynonna through it.

Hell hath no fury like a Waverly Earp interrupted, it seems. But this is no take-out order.

“Baby, we’ve gotta jet. This is code. It’s Wynonna’s bat signal for _get me the fuck out of here, stat_.”

Waverly gapes at her. “You two have a secret code based on the Taco Bell menu!?”

Nicole tugs at the collar of her t-shirt, embarrassed. “Uh, kinda…” They do, and it’s totally ridiculous.

Waverly’s own phone lights up and starts ringing, Taylor Swift’s _The Lucky One_ cutting through the hushed desert night. “Shitballs it’s Chrissy.” She frowns and taps the screen to take the call.

“Chris, this had better be fricken’ good…Where are you?...Why are you whispering?…You’re hiding in a BUSH?...She did _what now?_ …”

Nicole watches on as Waverly’s expression shifts from irritated to alarmed before settling on grimly resigned.

“Ugh…’kay fine, drop me a pin, we’ll be there in two shakes.”

Waverly hangs up and glares down at her phone crossly. “So, apparently dumb and dumber are out at some place called the Pine Shadows trailer park…They fell in with some local rednecks, ‘Nonna got caught cheating at blackjack, and shit went down. They’re laying low in a sumac bush by the park entrance waiting for us to swing by and rescue them in the ‘Stang.”

_Of course they are._

“Just a regular Tuesday night out for Wynonna Earp then?” Nicole chuckles. She hobbles ungracefully to her feet and offers her hand down to Waverly.

“It’s not funny!” Waverly allows herself to be pulled up and into Nicole’s arms. “One night. That’s all I asked,” she grumbles. “One night alone without my sister getting all up in our biscuits. But nope, nuh-uh…”

“I know, baby.” Nicole cradles Waverly’s face between open palms and presses a soothing kiss to her forehead. “It’s probably for the best, though. It’s almost midnight and we’ve got a hella long day of driving ahead of us tomorrow.”

The rattler bite and her stay in the hospital has thrown their already tight schedule completely out of whack. They’ve got a thousand miles to cover in just two days now, which means traversing the entire state of New Mexico in a single, daunting day.

“How ‘bout we press pause and pick this up tomorrow night?” Nicole suggests. “We’ll get some alone time in then, even if we have to sneak out.”

Waverly tangles her fingertips in the soft downy hair at the nape of Nicole’s neck and gazes up at her, sultry-like, slow blinking. “Do you promise?”

“Cross my heart,” she vows solemnly.

“Tomorrow then,” Waverly agrees, sighing. She slides both hands down between them and rebuckles Nicole’s belt with slow, rueful fingers. “You better believe I’m holding you to that, Nic.”

A tiny, anticipatory shiver ripples down her spine in response to the determined want in Waverly’s voice. But then her stomach knots, because if all goes to plan, by this time tomorrow night they’ll have crossed state lines into Texas.

Texas, where everything’s bigger and bolder. Texas, the place that still feels irrevocably like home. Texas, where painful memories and even more painful answers might await her.

She closes her eyes, trying and failing to recollect her mother’s signature north Texan drawl. These days the sweet lilting sound seems to come to her only in her dreams, and she can never quite hold onto it.

Waverly’s brings her back with a worried hand to her cheek. “Hey…are you okay Nicole?”

“Perfect,” she lies with a tight smile. “C’mon baby, it’s hustle time.” She scoops up the picnic blanket, avoiding Waverly’s searching gaze. “Let’s go rescue our two idiot BFFs from a bush.”  
  
///

They’re hurtling east on the I-40 the next day, Albuquerque long gone in their mirrors, when it hits Waverly just how much she’s going to miss this trip when they’re done.

Which is nuts, really.

Because it’s their eleventh day cooped up together in the ‘Stang and they’ve already clocked up eight long hours today on what’s gotta be the world’s most monotonous highway.

There’s a dull ache in her biceps from her recent stint at the wheel, the yellow sundress she wore to tempt Nicole’s gaze is so slick with sweat that she’s slip-sliding around in her leather bucket seat, and the Mustang reeks of the chipotle bean burritos Wynonna insisted they stop for in Santa Rosa.

Yet there’s something seductive, something liberating, about the open road. Out here, untethered to any place, unshackled from her Earped-up past, she’s free to be whoever the frick she wants to be.

Right now, Chrissy’s in the driver’s seat beside her, Ethan’s discarded Stetson on her head, belting out the second verse of Taylor Swift’s _Love Story_ with infectious gusto. The two of them have been singing along to cheesetastic country songs for the last fifty miles, giggling like idiots every time they go off-pitch or mess up the lyrics.  
  
“Hit it girl,” Chrissy drawls now, throwing the vocals over to her.

Waverly picks up the tune seamlessly, her voice smooth and clear. For a moment, she loses herself in the romance of the lyrics, and her glance flicks to the rearview mirror, seeking out her girlfriend in a not-so-subtle serenade.

But Nicole’s a million miles away.

She’s pressed up against the small panel of glass that passes for a rear-side window in the Mustang, her fingers tangled in the necklace her mother gave her, sadness and the desert plains dancing in her eyes.

Well shoot.

Nicole’s been distant all day. Earlier, Waverly’d put it down to her pain meds, but it’s obvious now that it’s their destination that has her antsy. With every mile they draw closer to Texas, Nicole seems to retreat further and further into herself.

Waverly’s become so used to Nicole’s ready smile and attentive ways that it’s kinda jarring, this brooding. Granted, in her guilty pleasure Harlequins she’s always had a thing for the strong, silent types. In reality, though? It’s more frustrating than swoonworthy.

She feels helpless. She hates that they’re sitting so far apart. She aches to touch Nicole, to smooth her furrowed brow, to soften the hard set of her jaw with a well placed kiss, to somehow temper the apprehension in that pretty brown gaze.

Most of all she wants Nicole to open up to her, to trust her enough to finally let her in about what exactly went down with her mother in Dallas.

 _Love Story_ reaches its epic conclusion then, and the radio starts aching out another little tune: Dolly Parton’s _Here I Am_. Chrissy whoops in delight, priming her voice.

“Welp. My ears, they bleed,” Wynonna snarks from the the back. “Dolly fucking Parton? What shit did I pull in a past life to have this rare form of hell inflicted on me?”

_Here we go again, more bitching from the queen of metal..._

Wynonna’s sprawled across the rear seats, her bare feet settled in an oblivious Nicole’s lap as she paints her toenails a gothic purple. She shakes her head in misery. “This is all your fault Haughtdamn.”

Nicole startles, coming back from whatever world she’s been lost in. “Huh? What’s that?” She wrenches her gaze away from the desert they’re blurring past and does a double-take at the sight of Wynonna painting her toenails in her lap.

“This infernal racket of a singalong. It’s on you.”

“Howdya figure that, Earp?”

“Well, if you hadn’t got us both maimed in that whole snake bite debacle, Nedley junior would never’ve figured out how to drive stick and we wouldn’t be stuck back here in the kiddie seats listening to Shania Twang and Shotgun Willie.”

That draws a wry smile from Nicole. “My bad, next time I’m weighing up whether to _save your life_ , Earp, I’ll be sure to chew on the musical ramifications…”

“Excellent, you do that. Now…I’ve just had some inspo on how to end our torture-by-twang…Brace yourself Haught, it’s time to fight fire with fire...”

Wynonna clears her throat ominously.

Uh-oh. Is her sister about to _sing_? Please god, no.

“THE TRAILER SURE SEEMS LONELY NOW THAT YOU AND THE NINE KIDS ARE GONE…”

Holy shitballs! Wynonna’s caterwauling at the top of her lungs, drowning out Dolly’s sweet voice. Waverly clamps her hands over her ears in an attempt to block out the strangled screeching, but it provides little relief in the close confines of the Mustang.

“IF WHISKEY WERE A MAN I'D BE MARRIED FOR SURE...”

Christ on a cracker, ‘Nonna sure has a set of pipes on her, and what kind of effed up nonsense song is this?!

“Put a sock in it Wynonna. NOW. Or I’m gonna hit you with my Bieber playlist at max volume,” Chrissy warns, waggling a finger in the mirror. “I mean it. Don’t test me girl.”

Waverly’s pretty sure Chrissy doesn’t actually _have_ a Bieber playlist but the threat works a treat. Instant silence descends on the back. Chrissy shoots Waverly a victorious grin and the two of them resume their _Here I Am_ singalong with Dolly.

“Fuck my life,” Wynonna groans. “It’s times like this that I _really, really_ miss my flask.”

Three more Dolly Parton songs later Waverly’s busying herself on her phone finalizing their accommodation for the night when a commotion breaks out in the back.

“Jesus Wy, quit your squirming,” Nicole hisses, holding Wynonna’s legs down. “It’s bad enough you’ve shoved your feet in my face and you’re gettin’ me high on your stinky nail polish...can’t you at least keep still?”

“I can’t help it, I’m itchy as fuck,” Wynonna complains, scratching at her back and stomach like a woman possessed. “Balls...I think that shrub Nedley junior and I holed up in last night must have been infested with poison ivy.”

Nicole snorts. “More like you’re gettin’ chowed on by the bedbugs your hobo boyfriend dropped in my ‘Stang.”

Wynonna whips up her t-shirt and inspects her belly. “Holy shit! You’re right Haughtdamn, they are bites.” She frowns. “But hang on...why are they only munching on me?”

“Probably all the sweet whiskey in your blood,” Nicole offers sagely.

“Huh, well at least they’ve got good taste.” Wynonna smirks her approval but it soon gives way to more intense scratching. “Man, this is worse than that time I ate edibles for breakfast and tripped that I was a Coonhound.” She grimaces at the memory. “We need to stop somewhere, stat, and vacuum these mofos up. What town’s up next babygirl?”

Waverly doesn’t even need to check her map. “Tucumcari’s the next exit ‘Nonna, in fifteen miles.”

It’s kinda hard to miss. There’ve been ‘Tucumcari Tonite’ billboards peppered along the I-40 as far back as Albuquerque, hyping the town’s 1200 motel rooms and vintage charm.

“Right, we’re making a pitstop to debug in Too-cum-whatnot then,” Wynonna announces. “I’m jonesing for another donut and a latte anyways.”

Waverly catches Nicole’s eye in the mirror and they share a pained look. This’ll be their fourth Wynonna-induced snack break in less than three hundred miles, and every minute they waste now is one minute less they’ll have to spend alone together later tonight.

Still, if they’re gonna stop anywhere in this empty-ass stretch of New Mexico, iconic Tucumcari, with its Route 66 strip of kitschy mom-and-pop motels, is supposed to be the highlight.

It’s late sunset when they peel off the interstate, the sky making that last colossal pink gesture that often precedes the night. It turns out to be the perfect hour to roll through downtown Tucumcari: the main drag’s freshly lit up, the famed neon signage of the likes of the Blue Swallow Motel, TeePee Curios and Del’s Restaurant burning brightly.

Not that her sister notices any of this…

“Fuck me, we’ve hit the motherload. This place has _three_ dedicated donut shops.” Wynonna’s voice is reverent, her face pressed to the Mustang’s glass as she practically salivates.

They pull up at a faded Esso two-pump gas station, a cutesie tiger and an “Historic Route 66” logo stenciled in its windows.

Once they’re out of the car, Nicole decides, predictably, that not only does her precious ‘Stang need a vacuum, it’s also due another wash and polish. She stalks off in search of a squeegee.

Wynonna, just as predictably, makes straight for the donut store. “Coming babygirl?”

“Yeah no, I...um...think I’ll stick around here and help Nicole out with the Mustang.”

As tempting as exploring is, she’ll take every single second of alone time she can get with Nicole right now.

Wynonna arches a skeptical brow. “ _Help_ ,” she makes air quotes around the word, “is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

Chrissy swats Wynonna. “Leave ‘em be, you jackass.” She winks at Waverly and tugs at her sister’s hand. “C’mon girl, let’s go see if we can find you that maple glazed donut you keep banging on about.”

Left alone, Waverly stalls for a moment, beguiled by her surroundings. Because this is no ordinary street. Half the buildings adjacent to the gas station are crumbling, rusted ruins. The other half are well-preserved relics that make her feel as if she’s stepped straight into a 1950s film, complete with Technicolor.

But then her gaze lands back on Nicole and she’s all Waverly sees, all she wants to know.

She’s hard at work, cleaning the Mustang’s dusty windshield with long, precise strokes of the squeegee, a picture of sleek muscles and intense concentration.

Maybe it’s her looming reunion with Texas, Waverly’s not sure, but for whatever reason Nicole’s gone full cowgirl today. She’s decked out in skinny Levi's and a blue-green plaid shirt, the sleeves folded just so to reveal taut forearms, the inevitable top two buttons left undone to torture and tantalize her.

There’s something rugged, something blue-collar, about this look that’s doing things to Waverly right now, mildly obscene things...

Her mind drifts, conjures up that small town future her sister’s so adamant she has to avoid: the picket fence, the two or three kids, Nicole coming home to her at night after a long shift in her creased uniform, bone-tired but still wanting to make love. Waverly knows she’s meant for more than that, that Nicole would never allow it, anyhow, but it’s not exactly an unwelcome fantasy in this second.

Done with the windshield, Nicole turns on her heel, making to start the next job on her checklist. She stops in her tracks at the sight of Waverly watching on.

Nicole slow blinks at her. The air seems to thicken, the sweet smell of gasoline adding to the sense of something combustible flaring between them.

Then a cool desert breeze swirls around the gas station, picking up the hem of Waverly’s sundress and holding it for a moment. Nicole’s gaze drops to Waverly’s exposed thighs and lingers there, before sliding inexorably lower, her dark brown eyes flashing with hunger and heat.

Waverly _feels_ this look, feels in it all of the pent up frustration from last night and today, and the promise of what’s to come tonight.

She steps forward, backing Nicole up against the Mustang, her palms pressed flush to her chest. “See something you like, baby?” she teases, smirking.

An adorable pink blush spreads across Nicole’s cheeks. “I-I’m sorry Waves...I didn’t mean to make you feel leered at...it’s just you look so...” She rubs the back of her neck, flustered and tongue-tied.

God, Nicole’s so flipping different from Champ. Being leered at and treated like a piece of ass was the norm with her ex. But here’s Nicole apologizing for staring at her legs a beat too long.

Waverly’s hands flutter to Nicole’s collar and she toys with the fabric there. “I _want_ you to look at me like that, silly.” She smiles a coy smile. “I wore this dress for you.”

Nicole swallows thickly, her blush intensifying. “You do...y-you did?”

She thinks she’ll never tire of this, the way Nicole comes undone for her and only her, the ease with which she can crack that cool, slightly cocky exterior. It almost feels like a superpower.

Nicole makes a visible effort to steady herself. “Just so long as you know,” she says, voice low and intense, “as hot-as-hell as you truly are...” She frames Waverly’s face in her hands. “I would’ve fallen in love with you with my eyes closed.”

Oh boy…

With anyone else that’d feel like a line, a honeyed way into her pants. But not Nicole. Nuh-uh. Those big brown eyes are blazing with disarming sincerity.

She wants nothing more in this moment than to lean in and kiss Nicole senseless, to show her how much that sort of adoration means. But an ancient Chevy pickup has just wheezed to a stop at the pump nearest them, a shit-ton of boozed up teens riding in the bed. This is a small town, a conservative town, and she’d rather not be gawked at, or worse.

So instead she pops open the ‘Stang’s passenger side door and steers Nicole towards it, telegraphing her intention with her eyes.

Nicole flashes an indulgent smile and allows Waverly to push her down into the seat. “You’re a bad influence, baby,” she drawls, “I haven’t even vacuumed the ‘Stang yet. Your sister’s gonna murder me if I don’t at least try and de-bedbug the back.”

Waverly climbs on top of Nicole, straddling her. “Eh, bad news there. I googled and the only way to get rid of those critters is to steam clean, and even then, you might still need to fumigate.” She tugs the door closed, sealing them in the sweltering hot but semi-private world of the Mustang with a soft _thunk_.

“Well, in that case,” Nicole husks, her eyes glazing over as Waverly’s hands go to her chest, “there’s gotta be better ways to spend our precious five minutes of alone time.”

Waverly hums in agreement. She runs her fingers down the line of buttons at the front of Nicole’s plaid shirt, revelling in the contact.

It’s not lost on her that they’re positioned exactly as they were in St. George three days earlier, the morning they’d almost had sex in the Mustang. The morning that lust and rage had swirled in her veins, coalesced, and turned her into a hurricane of want.  
  
She’s still consumed by that want. It’s always there, relentless, a fever that never breaks. But she’s not looking for a quick release today. She wants to savor every touch, to draw out every kiss, to forge something soul-deep. She wants to say with her body what she hasn’t yet worked up the courage to say with her words: that she’s in love with Nicole, that she’s ready to give her everything.

She pops another two buttons on Nicole’s shirt and slips a hand beneath the fabric, her fingers splaying across bare skin. “So...I mighta, kinda, figured out how we can get some alone time tonight without sneaking away,” she confides shyly.

“Oh yeah?” Nicole’s lashes flutter all helpless-like at her touch.

“Uh-huh. I booked us a cabin...a two bedroom stone cabin in the Palo Duro Canyon State Park, near Amarillo. It’s right on the rim and it’s really, really pretty. It has a kitchen, and I thought we could cook, ‘cause I’m super sick of that greasy shit ‘Nonna keeps making us eat out on the road, and...”

Oh god, she’s rambling again. Something about tonight’s got her feeling big-time nervous.

“Two bedrooms, huh?” Nicole grins at her, wolfish. “Good thinking baby. Just so long as it’s not like that last _amazeballs_ place you booked online.” She arches an amused brow. “The clapped out old trailer in Idaho...”

She frowns. Shitsticks, it had better not be, that place was the pits.

“I’m only teasin’ Waves.” Nicole’s smile softens and turns radiant, her dimples blooming. “I’d sleep in a yurt if it meant I got you all to myself.”

Waverly melts at that. She leans in to claim Nicole’s lips. The angle’s all wrong, though, and they bump noses. She stills, drowning in Nicole’s brown eyes, so close now that every blink of those long lashes is a collision. Behind her, the radio starts humming something melancholy and nineties. REM, maybe.

She catches a flash of it then, that sadness from earlier, hidden in the depths of Nicole’s gaze. And as desperate as she is to kiss her in this moment, she needs something else more: to understand the source of that pain, and to do everything she can to cure it.

So, agonizingly, she scootches back. “Nicole?”

“Mmm?” Nicole’s still laser-focused on that kiss. She leans forward, chasing Waverly’s lips.

“W-wait.” She holds a gentle palm up to Nicole’s chest. “I need to talk to you about something.”

Respectful as always, Nicole halts her advances and sinks back into the seat, lust giving way to apprehension in an instant.

“S’alright, sweetie...it’s nothing bad,” Waverly soothes. “It’s just...are you okay? You’ve been awful quiet today, and the closer we get to Texas the more you seem to...shut down. We’re almost in Dallas, and I’m worried something’s—”

“I’m fine, Waves,” Nicole cuts in, voice brittle, features schooled to impassive. “Totally fine. Don’t stress...please.” Her eyes, so soft a moment ago, are now closed doors, solemn and secretive.

_Well shoot, here we go for the zillionth fricking time._

She’s getting beyond frustrated with her girlfriend holding back her damage.

For six years now Nicole has been her safe harbor, the constant, steady presence that’s seen her through so many, many storms. The one whose strong arms she sought refuge in when Wynonna was incarcerated the first and then the second time around; the one whose chest she cried a river into the night Willa packed her life into three suitcases and rolled out of town with only a cold, indifferent half-shrug for her.

Yet it feels like, aside from an equally reserved father and a charming Texas accent, Nicole Haught sailed into her life without a past.

She’s done waiting for Nicole to divulge that past of her own accord. Done being patient and careful. The clock’s run down, they’re all out of time. They’ll be in Dallas tomorrow night, facing god knows what...

Waverly lifts her chin, defiant. “I don’t believe you.” She clasps Nicole’s hands in her own and brings them up to her chest, squeezing tight. “You’re so strong, baby, but there are things inside you, broken things. I see them sometimes, hiding in your eyes.” She raises one of Nicole’s wrists to her lips and presses a tender kiss there. “I don’t think you’re fine, and that’s perfectly okay. You’re about to see your mom again. You’re allowed to be sad, or shit-scared, or angry, or whatever...You don’t have to pretend with me.”

Nicole hangs her head, shamefaced. “I know...I-I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I want you to talk to me, is all, to let me in. I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what’s going on.”

Nicole draws in a shuddering breath, then exhales with a sigh. “You’re right. My bad. It’s just...I haven’t...it’s really hard talking about this.” She cuts her gaze back up to meet Waverly’s. “I loved Texas,” she confesses, voice raw. “Loved it like I loved my mother...too damned much. I never wanted to leave. But after my mom disappeared, I was real messed up, and my dad thought we needed a clean break...”

Waverly suspects that a “clean break” might be putting it mildly. She’s never even seen a photo of Nicole’s mother, or anything from Texas, around the Haught residence in Purgatory.

“...so I’ve never been back, and I thought...I thought I’d let go, you know? That coming back here now, finding her, that it was about closure. Like finally getting a pebble out of my shoe, or something. But the closer I get, the more I’m startin’ to feel like I’m not over her leaving, that I just locked it all up in a room somewhere deep inside…”

Waverly nods in silent understanding. Sometimes it feels like every person that’s ever loved her and left her is trapped inside her chest.

“...and I’m terrified that it’s all gonna come pouring out in Dallas. There’s a version of myself that I left behind there, a version I don’t want to meet again. That I _really_ don’t want _you_ to meet. There are things...I-I’m not proud of how I reacted back then Waverly. I never want you to see me like that.”

There’s so much insecurity, so much vulnerability, flickering in Nicole’s brown eyes right now, it just about cleaves Waverly’s heart in two.

She hates that Nicole thinks she has to withhold parts of herself; that she’s done such a shitty job of expressing her feelings that Nicole thinks she has to present some kind of perfect front to keep her.

“I know you, Nicole.” She slips her hand back through the gap in her girlfriend’s shirt, resting her fingers over her heart. “And there’s nothing you could say that would change the way I feel about you. _Nothing._ Do you hear me? So please...I need you to tell me all of it.”

Nicole studies her, hesitant. Waverly slow blinks back at her, trying to infuse her gaze with all of the love she’s yet to put into words. There’s something in Nicole that needs breaking open, that needs healing. She’s sure of it, and she’s not going to relent until she gets the whole story this time.

“Okay.” Nicole nods, still tentative. “If that’s what you want, Waves. But later. Tonight. There’s not enough time now.”

Later’s better than never. “Thank you.” She leans in, smiling, and brushes the tip of her nose to Nicole’s. “I want all of you, baby, even the broken bits...and I want you to want all of me, too. To want to _take_ all of me...No more holding back.”

Nicole’s breath hitches at that, and her glance drops to her lips. “Waverly…”

She shivers at her name being spoken in that lilting, breathless tone.

Then Nicole surges forward. She cups Waverly’s face in her hands and kisses her so deeply that she loses track of who is breathing for who.

It’s a little rough, a little insistent, Nicole more than answering her call to take, yet it’s somehow immeasurably tender, too. Nicole’s mouth and tongue taste of the Skittles she and Wynonna were sharing earlier, sugar gum sweet, and her heart throbs underneath Waverly’s fingertips, the strongest, fastest bassline to a kiss she’s ever known.

This, she thinks, is the sort of kiss they write love songs about. Big, booming power ballads.

Alphaville are aching out their own sort-of-love ballad on the radio, lauding diamonds in the sun and living and dying young. She loses herself in the kiss, in the music; the combination of the bittersweet synth pop and the tender fire wrought by Nicole’s lips sweeping her into a blissful oblivion.

That bliss only deepens when Nicole slips a hand under the hem of her dress, her deft fingers skating up, up, up the inside of her bare thigh.

Maybe, just maybe, they’re finally about to do the deed in the ‘Stang...

She can’t help the wild buck of her hips or the needy little moan into Nicole’s mouth that x-rated thought elicits, even though she knows that it’d be sheer madness to do _that_ here, now. Wynonna and Chrissy are due back any minute, they’re parked in a very public spot at a busy gas station, and she’s promised herself that their next time will be a slow, meaningful love-making not a quick, sordid fuck.

But jesus does she want to, anyway, ‘cause it’s been _too long_ , and…

_Rap, Rap, Rap._

“Yo PDA, knock that off or you’re gonna end up on Pornhub.”

Mother fricker! Wynonna has the _worst_ timing.

They jolt apart and Nicole, wide-eyed, pink cheeked, whips her hand out from under Waverly’s dress with a look of startled regret.

Waverly cuts her sister a murderous glare. Couldn’t she at least’ve waited until their kiss was done before banging on the fricken’ window? Honestly, sometimes…

“Enough with the stink eye already, sis,” Wynonna drawls, her voice muffled by the glass between them. “I’m doing you horndogs a solid. Your little performance has made you the main attraction at some hayseed’s tailgating party.” She jerks a thumb over her shoulder, smirking.

_What the heck?_

Wynonna’s pointing in the direction of the beat-up Chevy pickup she’d noticed earlier. There’s at least a dozen partying teens crammed in the back now, passing around boxed wine and a bottle of Southern Comfort, a bunch of them leering at her and Nicole like they’re pay-per-view-porn.

Not for the first time, she wishes the Mustang had tinted windows.

She shivers. They’re big, hulking dudes for the most part; dudes with cannonball fists, radiating that barely contained restlessness of young men in a town that’s far too small for them.

There are only two girls, both perched on the open tailgate, both wedged between the legs of guys she assumes to be their boyfriends. The first, a sharp faced blonde, is staring at Waverly like she’s something obscene, her nose wrinkled in revulsion. But the other girl, a petite brunette with grey eyes and a smart ponytail, has something entirely different in her gaze: wistfulness, envy even.

She wants _this_.

Waverly feels a pang of compassion. She knows that look, knows what it is to live in a backwards, redneck town and want something, someone, that seems impossible.

She shifts, returning her attention to her gorgeous, adoring girlfriend. She can’t help but wonder at how she got so fricken’ lucky. Because finding a love this big, this early, feels like finding a cosmic needle in a haystack.

They can’t waste this. For too long each of them has been holding something back: Nicole her damage, Waverly her heart. That has to end.

So tonight she’s going to show Nicole how she really feels, _tell_ her even, if she can find the right moment.

And maybe, some day, she’s going to end up head over handlebars, face first in the gravel. But it’ll be worth it. Because she’ll be able to look back and know that she was alive, that she tried, that for a time at least, she was truly happy.

She brushes a thumb along Nicole’s kiss-swollen lower lip. “Later,” she whispers, a sultry promise.

Nicole nods, flashing her a dimpled, lovestruck smile. “Later, baby.”

So many, many things for _later_.

///

  
_WELCOME TO TEXAS_  
_Drive Friendly — The Texas Way_

  
It’s just a sign.

A hunk of rusted green metal with a Lone Star Flag at its heart and two bullet holes pitted either side.

But it’s enough to make Nicole’s chest seize up and render her legs unsteady.

It’s twilight now, day bleeding into pallid night, and she stands alone at the Texas state line, the Mustang parked up behind her on a shoulder of red dirt. The other three have run across the I-40 to visit the Exxon on the westbound side, on a frantic bathroom hunt after OD’ing on liquids in Tucumcari.

She drops to her haunches and rests her palm against the still warm earth. It’s powder-dry and thrums every time a car whizzes past.

_Texas. Home._

She shuts her eyes and calls up some happier memories from her old life: her dad teaching her how to shoot a basket in Tyre Park when she’s nine, then nailing up a hoop in their driveway a week later; splashing around in Joe Pool Lake, her mother watching on, a brush in her hand, painting the scene in intricate pastel detail, painting every little thing there but her.

Her mother...

_Goddammit._

It slams into her then, the old pain. But with it comes something far worse: treacherous hope.

The sting of rejection, the grief that never quite abates...that shit she can handle. Hope, though, that tiresome little voice that’s back now, wondering if there might be some explanation, a good reason for her mother doing what she did, that she can’t bear.

Because with hope comes the prospect of getting hurt and falling apart all over again.

She sighs, scratching in the dirt with a stick. She thought she was past this, that this trip to Dallas was about getting some answers and closing the door on that old life. Instead, it’s starting to feel more like she’s ripping the band-aid off a poorly healed wound.

Somebody squeezes her shoulder from behind then, startling her out of her mini-spiral.

The touch is so gentle that she assumes it’s Waverly. She’s about to cover that hand with her own, when her best friend squats down in front of her.

“You know Haught, you’re a little old to be playing in the dirt.”

She should’ve known, it’s so Wynonna to sneak up on her like that, soft-footed as a cat.

Nicole just huffs. “You guys find a place to pee?”

“Uh-huh, but that bathroom was a crime against humanity,” Wynonna quips, stealing Nicole’s stick and drawing two figures doing something nasty in the dirt. “The cheerleaders are taking their time, though, gussying themselves up.” She eyes Nicole suspiciously. “Anyone’d think babygirl has a hot date lined up tonight or something.”

Nicole blushes and looks away. It’s still kinda awkward, navigating things now that Wynonna knows about them. Her best friend might’ve finally come around, but it’s hard to imagine them ever getting to a place where Nicole could share that she’s got a sex date with Waverly planned for later tonight.

Wynonna follows the line of Nicole’s gaze, taking in the _Welcome to Texas_ sign.

“Sucks, right?” Wynonna muses in a solemn voice. “Rolling back into a place you left behind...knowing it won’t be the same as you left it, not being sure what you’re gonna find...what’s changed, who’s changed…”

Nicole nods, swallowing down a lump in her throat. Coming home after long, sometimes involuntary, spells away is something Wynonna Earp knows plenty about.

“You talk to Waves about your shit yet?” Wynonna probes, blunt as ever. Her best friend’s face is half in shadow now, her expression unreadable in the dying light.

“Uh...no, not really, not yet,” she stammers out. “I’m going to, though.”

She knows she has to, that it’s important to Waverly that she lets her in, but just thinking about it makes her stomach roil. It terrifies her, exposing that side of herself; the weak, pathetic side she’s worked so hard to bury. What if it freaks Waverly out? Drives her away?

“Dude, trust me...you’ve gotta talk to her,” Wynonna says with a pitying sigh. “Once she knows that you’re withholding deets from her, resistance is futile. She gets all flittery and shit.”

It’s kind of sweet, Wynonna prodding her towards Waverly like this. “Yeah, I totally get that, Earp. Don’t worry, I’m on it.”

“Good good.” Wynonna pats Nicole’s arm awkwardly. “Now—”

She breaks off, cocking her head to one side. “Did you hear that?”

Nicole listens. There’s some faint rustling and grunting off to their right, audible only in the breaks between cars whooshing past. She squints that way, out across a vast expanse of flat ranchland, but it’s tricky making anything out in this murky light.

“I’m sure it’s nothing, just a rat or—”

“There!” Wynonna scrabbles to her feet, drawing her phone like it’s a pistol and shining it out into the darkness. “I heard it again. Please tell me there aren’t BEARS in Texas, Haught.”

Christ, here we go again. The way Wynonna carries on you’d think there was an evil, Mission Impossible-style syndicate of bears dedicated to scaring the living shit out of her.

“Well, I mean, I think there are some black bears? But I doubt they’d be chilling by the interstate…”

Wynonna snorts. “You never know where those fuckers are going to turn up next, Haughtdamn.” She shines her phone in a wide arc. “Need I remind you that one parked itself in the front seat of the ‘Stang just a few short days ago?”

A loud grunt cuts through the air.

“‘The hell was that?” Wynonna hisses, spinning on her heel and aiming her phone in the direction of the noise. The light catches on something snuffling around in the earth, a weird looking critter the size of a large cat, with a hard, brass-colored shell and a long snout.

“Eek!” Wynonna yowls, ducking behind Nicole. “Holy shit, it’s a baby dinosaur!”

Spooked by Wynonna’s screeching, the creature springs a good three feet straight up in the air and lets rip a series of pig-like screams.

“Calm down, you dumbass,” Nicole chuckles, tracking the animal’s progress as it scuttles away from them. “It’s just an armadillo. They’re everywhere in Texas, common as rabbits.”

Wynonna peeks over her shoulder. “ _That’s_ an arma-dildo? It looks like a rhinoceros bred with a rat.”

“Yeah, they’re odd looking critters. Sharp claws, too. My granddaddy used to catch them digging up his turnip patch. One night he got fed up and took a potshot at one with his Winchester 70. The bullet ricocheted clean off its shell and grazed his jaw.”

“Huh, I gotta get me a badass shell like that,” Wynonna snorts, impressed. “Hey...is it just me or is the armadillo making a beeline for the interstate now?”

Wynonna’s right. It’s waddling straight for the I-40. “Yeah, they do that. They’re half-deaf and half-blind, they don’t play well with roads.”

“Shit, we can’t just let it get squished.” Wynonna grips Nicole’s arm, tight. “ _Do something_ Haught.”

“Uh-uh, I’m not running onto the highway after that thing, not with a bum leg.”

Even fully fit she’s dubious she’d catch it in time, and then there’s the bit where she’d have to touch it...

Wynonna grunts. “Some hero you are.” She shrugs out of her leather jacket and shoves it at Nicole.

Then she bolts after the armadillo.

_Perfect._

“Wait up Earp!” she hollers, following more slowly. “You really don’t wanna do that—”

But Wynonna’s not listening, she’s on a mission and closing fast. The armadillo’s almost reached the edge of the asphalt now. It’s gonna be a close run thing…

At the very last second, just when it looks like it’s too late, Wynonna launches herself through the air and makes a glorious, rugby-style tackle, snatching the armadillo up from the road just as a tanker truck roars past. She hugs it tight to her chest and barrell rolls off the asphalt.

“Gotcha, little fucker,” Wynonna crows, triumphant. She holds it aloft. It squirms in her hands, its four legs paddling furiously through the air.

Crap, this isn’t good. “Put that armadillo down _now_ , you idiot. You shouldn’t be touchin’ it. They carry leprosy!”

“LEPROSY!” Wynonna howls, dropping the creature like a hot potato. Thankfully it waddles back off in the direction of the fields. “You couldn’t have fucking LED with that fact, Haught?”

Nicole huffs. “How was I ‘sposed to know you were gonna get up close and personal with one?”

Wynonna stares up at her, horrified. “Holy mother of god, are my arms going to _drop off_ now?”

“Highly doubtful.” Nicole offers a hand down to her best friend. “You’ve normally gotta eat an infected armadillo for that, but just...don’t go cuddling one again, okay?”

“Pfft, no chance,” Wynonna grumbles, getting to her feet. “Go on a road trip, _they said_ ,” she mutters darkly, dusting herself down, “it’ll be fun, _they said_...well nobody mentioned the bears, rattlesnakes or leprosy infested arma-dildos, did they!”

Wynonna holds out her palm. “Gimme the keys.”

“Huh?” Nicole replies, caught off guard by the abrupt request.

“I’m driving. I’m taking back control of the ‘Stang. I’m done sitting in the kiddie seats listening to that infernal racket the T-Swizzle fan club are inflicting on us.”

“Your hands—”

Wynonna’s bandages came off yesterday, but they’re still supposed to be a little raw.

“Are fiiiiine...they were fine enough to rescue that dumbass armadillo, weren’t they?” She holds them up for inspection in the near-dark. “C’mon, you owe me after your whipped self was too busy shoving your tongue down my sister’s throat to de-bedbug the back in Tucumcari.”

_That’s a fair point._

She drops the keys into Wynonna’s palm, sorely hoping she doesn’t live to regret it.

///

  
“What the fudge ‘Nonna? Why’ve we stopped again?”

Waverly’s annoyed voice rouses Nicole from a micro nap in which she’s somehow ended up with her head in the brunette’s lap. Reluctantly, she sits upright, stretches and sighs. After eleven tedious hours cooped up together in the ‘Stang it seems yet another sisterly squall is brewing…

She glances around them, blinking. They’re parked in a vast, brightly lit gravel lot. The Mustang’s out of place here, a low-slung minnow in a sea of hulking F-150s, Dodge Rams and Chevy Silverados, and the air smells greasy, like corn dogs.

“This, baby sis, is the Randall County Rodeo and Fair, and we’re stopped because that big-ass sign over there says there’s a pig race coming up in fifteen minutes.” Wynonna rubs her hands together. “What stellar timing. Pig racing in Texas is high up on my bucket list, you know.”

Nicole snorts. She’s pretty sure by now that Wynonna’s bucket list is complete BS, that she makes it up as she goes along to suit her whims.

“ _Pig racing?_ First you stop at every flipping donut shop in New Mexico, and now you wanna sidetrack us with a visit to some fair to watch _pigs race_? Nuh-uh. Nope.” Waverly crosses her arms and flexes her jaw, temper fraying. “You get this car back on the road, right now, you hear me? We’re almost at the cabin, I want time to cook a proper meal and...” she shoots a loaded glance at Nicole, “do… _other_ _things_.”

The wanton lust in Waverly’s hazel eyes makes Nicole’s stomach flip and her cheeks flame.

“No need to get pissy Waves.” Wynonna shrugs into her leather jacket and preens in the Mustang’s mirror. “The night’s still plenty young.” She musses her hair. “Whatever these mystery plans of yours are, I’m sure you can put a pin in them for an hour or so.”

Waverly digs her nails into Nicole’s thigh and the pair of them exchange a frustrated look.

Chrissy snickers. “Oh my god, girl, are you really this freaking clueless?” She slaps Wynonna’s knee. “They’re in a rush to get to the cabin so _they can bang_ , you idiot. Why else do you think they booked a two bedroom place?”  
  
Wynonna lapses into a stunned silence. Then she gags. “Ew…that’s just…ew...holy shit, I so did _not_ need that brought to my attention, Nedley junior.” She takes a swig of water, but it goes down wrong and she starts choking. “Oh gross, I just had a worse thought,” she winces, coughing, “please tell me you two haven’t banged while we’ve all been sleeping in a room together on this trip…”

“Every night since Salt Lake City,” Waverly deadpans.

“Ewww! That’s disgusting—“

“She’s kidding, you dumbass,” Nicole breaks in. “Of course we haven’t done... _that_.” Not quite, anyway. They did come mighty close that first night in Vegas. Desperate times.

“Phew. Thank god. That would’ve taken this bizarro situation to a new level of squickitude.” Wynonna pops open her door. “Anyway, pig racing…”

When only Chrissy makes to follow her lead, Wynonna grunts. “Whatever. You two nerds go ride the teacups or something. We’ll be back in an hour.” She frowns at them. “And keep your panties on, please...no banging in the back of the ‘Stang…’cause, gross.”

Once they’re gone, Waverly buries her face in Nicole’s neck and groans. “Ugh, she’s driving me nuts today! We’re never getting to the cabin at this rate. If she wasn’t so fricken’ obtuse, I’d swear she was trying to cockblock us.”

Nicole cards her fingers through Waverly’s hair. “I know, baby,” she soothes. “Let’s just try and make the most of it. How ‘bout we go hit up the midway? It’ll be fun, like a mini-date. I’ll win you a bear.”

Waverly perks up. She pokes Nicole in the chest, a challenge in her eyes. “What makes you so sure that _I_ won’t be the one winning _you_ the bear, huh?”

“Someone’s cocky.” She kisses the tip of Waverly’s nose. “I guess we’ll just have to find out now, won’t we?”

They’re out of the car and about to head for the entrance when Waverly turns back to retrieve something from the front passenger seat. A hat. Ethan’s white Stetson, to be precise. She plonks it on Nicole’s head, adjusting the brim until it sits just so.

Nicole’s not convinced that she’s got the swagger to pull off a Stetson, but the way Waverly’s gazing up at her right now, all smitten, with a huge, dopey smile...oh no, there’s no way she’s fighting this.

Waverly smooths down Nicole’s collar. Then she links her wrists behind Nicole’s neck and walks her backwards until she’s pressed up against the Mustang. “Say something in Texan,” she coaxes in a smoky voice.

Nicole grins, bemused. “Sorry to break it to you, baby, but it’s not _actually_ a language.”

Waverly affects a pout and flutters her lashes in a not-so-subtle attempt at manipulation.

Like she can resist that...

“Fine.” She clears her throat, praying she’s not about to make a total fool of herself. She casts a tender glance down at Waverly. “Pardon me for starin’ darlin’, but you’re such a sweet thang that I just can’t help myself,” she drawls, hand on heart. “Now…if you’ll let me, I’d like to take you on a real date, and I’ll be fixin’ to win you that bear I promised, come hell or high water.”

She hangs her head and chuckles, cheeks flaming. “Oh god, I’m sorry Waves, that was so freaking cheesy—”

But Waverly surges forward, reaching up on tippy toes and kissing Nicole hard on the mouth. She knots her fists in Nicole’s shirt, pulling her closer, kissing her deeper and deeper, until some random dipshit walks past and wolf whistles at them.

After that, they wander hand in hand, shoulders brushing, plunging into the barely contained chaos of the thronging crowd.

There’s so much noise, so many happy kids running riot, so much joy, everywhere, that’s it’s impossible for Nicole to get stuck in her head for long here. And Waverly’s by her side, her pinky linked in hers, looking crushingly beautiful in the dreamy haze of twinkling, colored lights.

On their way to the midway they pass an honest-to-god line dancing exhibition, complete with boots scootin’ and hats a-twirlin, before chancing upon the 74th annual Randall County beauty pageant.

Waverly stalls at the latter, brow furrowed at the lineup of girls strutting the stage in nothing but skimpy swimsuits. “Isn’t this a little…antiquated?”

“Welcome to Texas, baby.”

At the midway, they join a long, snaking line to exchange their cash for coupons. Then Waverly, excited as a puppy, tugs Nicole by the hand, proving her Earpiness by making straight for ‘Shoot-out-the-Star’.

To be fair, it’s rural Texas, every second carnival game here seems to involve a gun of some sort.

When they reach the booth, Waverly hooks her fingers in the belt loops of Nicole’s jeans and pulls her close, bringing them hip-to-hip, ignoring the stare of the teenage boy operating the game. “So…I’ve got an idea for how we could make this a smidge more... _interesting_ ,” she says, toffee in her voice, mischief in her eyes.

“Mhm, and what’s that now?” She can take a guess, based on the heat in Waverly’s gaze.

“I think,” Waverly husks, toying with the top button of Nicole’s shirt. “That we should make an itty bitty wager. Whoever does a better job of shooting out the star wins a _favor_ , later tonight.”

Nicole swallows hard. “What sort of favor?” She gulps, shivering as Waverly draws a lazy line along her collarbone.

Waverly flashes a sinful smile, her nose crinkling. She stands on tippy toes and brushes her lips to Nicole’s ear. “If I win, before we make love, I want you to strip for me....”

Jesus christ. She shudders hard then, and it’s not even the mention of stripping that does it. It’s the charged way Waverly says the words _make love_ , like it’s not just a prettier way of describing sex, like she might just finally mean the _love_ part.

But hang on a sec, Waverly’s real handy with a shotgun. She could lose this, and performing a striptease would be big time awkward. Then she pictures Waverly slowly shedding _her_ clothes, dancing for her, with all of that natural rhythm and grace of hers, and the stakes seem more than worth it.

“You’re on, Waves,” she agrees, her voice an octave higher than usual. “And if I win...and I _will_ win.” She tries for her cockiest smile. “I expect the same prize.”

They hand over their coupons to the bemused attendant, and Nicole opts to go first.

It’s a simple enough game. Obliterate the red star printed on a paper target within fifteen shots and you’re the lucky winner of a tacky plush toy.

The rifle is light in her hands, a cheap, plastic knock-off. She stoops over the counter and lines up the target in the sights. But she struggles to focus. It’s noisy here; there’s EDM thumping out from the balloon and dart game nextdoor, and the flashing lights are playing havoc with her vision.

To make matters worse, bending over causes her shirt to ride up, and Waverly, in a devilish mood, decides to rake her nails along the sliver of exposed skin there.

She bites her lip and tries her damndest to block out the delicious torment of her girlfriend’s touch. She fires, once, twice, three times; each shot makes a metallic _bzzit_ sound, each one finding its mark.

In the end only two shots go awry, but it’s still two too many. There’ll be no plush toy prize. But she thinks she might’ve done enough to earn herself a striptease.

“Nice shooting, baby,” Waverly says, easing the gun from her hands and flashing her a sweet-as-pie smile, as if she hadn’t just tried to thwart Nicole’s victory.

Waverly huddles over the counter, taking her turn now, wielding the rifle like it’s second nature. The booth’s pink lighting, so garish, somehow only makes her look even more ethereal, like an angel — a gun-toting angel.

Then _bzzit, bzzit, bzzit_....Waverly fires off fifteen perfectly placed shots in succession.

Well shit. What was she thinking, making a wager on anything involving a gun with an Earp?

Waverly twirls around, whoops, and beams up at her. “Nailed it!”

“Winner, winner, winner!” the game operator booms. “That was some fine shootin’ ma’am. Now choose your spoils, any prize, any size.”

Waverly selects a cute little bear with a red bow-tie, bestowing it on Nicole with an elaborate flourish and a smug smile. “There you go sweetie, I told you I’d win you a bear, didn’t I?”

“Mhm, thanks for that,” Nicole grits out, accepting the bear ruefully. “Why do I feel like I just got hustled?”

“Don’t be a sore loser, baby,” Waverly chides, still beaming. “I won fair and square.” She draws her fingers down the line of buttons at the front of Nicole’s plaid shirt, eyes dark with lust. “No welshing, now. We made a deal and I’m _really, really_ looking forward to collecting my prize later.”

Nicole’s stomach flips as the full extent of what lies ahead dawns.

_Oh god, how the hell am I going to pull off a striptease?_

They rejoin the swelling crowd, hands linked, content to get swept up in the tide of fairgoers, to drift from booth to booth. They stop to play ‘Ring the Bell’ and ‘Dime Pitch’, competing hard but winning nothing.

And then Waverly sees _it_ , and tells Nicole she simply has to have _it_ …

 _It_ is a giant stuffed unicorn, with a rainbow horn. It sits proudly atop the highest row of colored plush in the ‘Short Throw Basketball’ booth, a hard to win prize, the hardest of all, perhaps.

Waverly toys with Nicole’s collar again, looking up at her with huge, irresistible eyes. “Please?”

Nicole smiles indulgently down at her girlfriend. “I’ve got you, Waves.”

She hands over her coupons and takes possession of three cantaloupe sized balls. It’s tricky, this game, the hoop is smaller than a real one, and to win the top shelf unicorn she’ll need to make all three throws. But she averaged twenty-three points per game last season. This’ll be a breeze.

Here, then, is her shot at redemption, her chance to reclaim her pride after the shooting debacle earlier.

And yet…

If there’s one thing she’s learned on this trip, it’s that Waverly Earp doesn’t need a champion; that she can fight and win her own battles, and it’s so much sweeter for her when she does.

So she spins on her heel. “You know what? I reckon you’ve got this.” She offers Waverly the ball.

Waverly’s eyes widen in panic and she takes a step back. “Me? Nope, nuh-uh,” she shakes her head, “you know I don’t do ball sports, Nic.”

“I know you _think_ you don’t. But you can do anything, Waverly, when you put your beautiful mind to it...and I’ll help you with technique.”

Waverly takes the ball, weighing it in her palms, inspecting it like it’s something alien. She blinks up at Nicole, doubt and vulnerability flickering in her gaze.

“Here,” Nicole coaxes. She moves behind Waverly and places a hand on either side of her hips. “You’ve gotta get your feet spaced right...that’s it...now get square to the basket.” She adjusts Waverly’s position until she’s angled correctly. “Now, hold the ball like this...good...when you shoot, bend your knees, and then it’s all in the wrists and the follow-through.” She takes Waverly’s throwing arm and guides her through the action.

They still for a moment then, Waverly’s small frame molded to her taller one. She knows she has to move so that Waverly can take her first shot, but she can’t quite bring herself to relinquish the contact yet, and she doesn’t think the brunette wants her to, either.

“This was all just an excuse to cop a feel, wasn’t it?” Waverly teases, the tremor in her voice betraying how affected she is.

“Uh-huh. You got me.” Nicole smiles into Waverly’s hair, her grip on her waist tightening. Desire surges through her, hot and sharp, burning her up from the inside out.

But this isn’t the place for it. “I believe in you,” she breathes into Waverly’s ear. Then she steps back. “Take your shot, Waves.”

Waverly’s first attempt misses by a long ways, and the second isn’t much better, but the third bounces off the backboard and drops in with a hushed _whoosh_. Waverly punches the air, confidence growing.

“Go again,” Nicole instructs.

The first shot bounces from one side of the ring to the other, and Nicole sucks in a breath, willing it to fall in. It does. The second throw is perfect, a thing of beauty. The third almost falls short, but the ball catches the rim and teeters for a moment, threatening to go either way. Finally, it drops.

_In._

“Holy shitballs! I did it.” Waverly’s hands going to her face in stunned disbelief. “I really did it!”

“Yeah you did! Congrats, baby,” Nicole gushes, kissing her on the forehead.

Waverly claims her unicorn from the attendant and clutches it proudly to her chest. Then she drops the toy by her feet and flings herself at Nicole, giggling with joy.

Nicole catches her by the hips and holds her close, spinning them in a slow, arcing three-sixty. The back of Waverly’s dress kicks up in the wind and her long hair fans out around her face, wild and free. She gazes down at Nicole, her eyes alight with soft wonder, and smiles a perfect, radiant smile.

This is the best prize of all. No plush toy or striptease will ever beat seeing that light in Waverly’s eyes and knowing she helped put it there.

Waverly slides back down to earth, keeping her body pressed flush to Nicole’s. All around them there’s a frenzy of light and activity, a swarm of people in motion, but they remain still, oblivious, lost in each other.

Nicole brushes her knuckles down Waverly’s cheek. “I’ll never be finished falling in love with you,” she confesses, shyly.

It’s too much again, probably. She glances away, heart thumping, not brave enough to weather Waverly’s reaction. But Waverly cups her jaw in her hands, forcing her to look her way. There’s none of the usual doubt lingering in those pretty hazel eyes now. Only tenderness.

“Nicole, I—”

“Blech, you guys make the Notebook look bleak. You two practice those googly eyes in the mirror, or is it just natural talent?”

If moment-ruining was an official sport, Wynonna Earp would be world champion.

There’s a part of her that wants to shout _go the fuck away Wynonna_ , because she’s pretty sure Waverly was about to say something important. Instead, she bites her tongue, sighs and relinquishes her hold on the brunette’s waist.

Wynonna’s overloaded. She’s brandishing a giant turkey drumstick in one hand and there’s something squirming under her other arm, something that looks a lot like a...pig.

_What the hell?_

Nicole blinks, squints, and blinks again. Nope, it’s definitely not a plush toy, it’s a real pig. It’s a chubby thing, the size of a small terrier, with dusky pink skin and tan splotches on its rump.

“Nice loot,” Wynonna drawls, nodding towards the unicorn at Waverly’s feet and Nicole’s bear. “But I think we’ve got you nerds beat in the swag department.”

Nicole’s gaze snaps to Chrissy, worried she’s going to have a goat or a duck or some other random farm animal tucked under her arm too. Maybe they got high and raided the kids petting zoo? Thankfully, she’s only holding a massive bottle of whiskey and a corn dog.

She returns her attention to her best friend, frowning. “What the heck, Wynonna...what is this?”

“This, Haughtstuff,” Wynonna replies, elbowing Chrissy and smirking, “is a half gallon bottle of St. George Lot 17 Single Malt. That’s a shit-ton of finest quality booze. We’re gonna have ourselves a humdinger of a cabin party tonight—”

“I won it on the mechanical bull,” Chrissy cuts in. She kisses the whiskey bottle, proud as punch. “I beat out eleven dudes, and this one here to bag it.” She hip checks Wynonna.

“That shitty machine was totally rigged,” Wynonna grumbles.

“Pfft. Like hell it was. I warned you, girl, never underestimate a cheerleader, we’re flexible as fuck.”

_For christ’s sake…_

“I don’t mean the WHISKEY, numbnuts. I mean the PIG. Why are you carrying a PIG?”

“Hmm? Oh, you mean this little fella?” Wynonna croons, feigning innocence. She gives the pig a squeeze. “This is Ham Solo. He beat out Chris P. Bacon and Barbie Q. Sandwich to land me fifty bucks and five pounds of bacon in that pig race we went to see.” She puts a hand up to her mouth and whisper shouts at Waverly, “Don’t worry babygirl, we binned the bacon.”

“Uh-huh,” Nicole grits out, patience starting to wear extremely thin. “And why is he _here_ , Earp? Did you _kidnap_ him?”

Wynonna snorts. “Like I’d do something like that.” She takes a chomp of her turkey drumstick and chews slowly, making Nicole wait. “No, see, we got to chatting to the dude who operates the show after the race, and it turns out Ham here was destined for the chop next week. It’s end of season, and that means…” She mimes a knife slashing her throat. “So Nedley junior dipped into her cash stash to buy him for me. Isn’t that great?”

_Great? No...Insane? Yes._

“So you _bought_ a pig?” Nicole chokes out. “You now _own_ a pig?”

“That’s right, Haught...I figured if you can get a ferret, I can get a pet pig. They can be buddies.”

Jesus christ, not this ferret BS again.

“A cat, Earp, I want a cat, not a ferret. And are you out of your goddamn mind?! We can’t take a PIG on a road trip! How will we get him into motels? And what about crossing the border?”

She’s pretty sure it’s an offense to transport unlicensed livestock between states in the USA, let alone into Canada. But then again, this is the same girl that smuggled a pistol across the border.

“Don’t get your panties in a wad,” Wynonna drawls, cool as a cucumber. “I’ve gotta plan sorted for that. We’re gonna buy some fake dog ears and one of those doggie coat things. If anyone asks we’re gonna pass Ham Solo here off as an exotic dog breed...a mutant chihuahua or something.”

_Well that sounds like a foolproof plan!_

She balls her fists. Somewhere behind them a balloon pops, in line with her temper.

Waverly rubs gentle, soothing circles into the small of her back. “You know, Nic, he is super cute...and it would be terribly cruel if he was to be murdered for meat…”

_Oh no, not Waverly too._

“...and I’m sure Gus and Curtis will take him in if you’d prefer ‘Nonna didn’t keep him. He could live out his full life on a proper ranch,” she coaxes.

The pig gives a soft snuffle then and Waverly steps closer, crouching down to scratch his chin. He makes a happy burbling sound at the contact and Waverly’s instantly smitten. She looks up at Nicole with wide, imploring eyes.

_Goddammit. That’s not fair._

Wynonna and Chrissy join in too, blinking at her expectantly. Even the darned pig’s staring at her all innocent and adorable-like.

“Fine!” Nicole relents with a groan. “Y’all win. But if he poops in my ‘Stang I’m dropping him off at the nearest sausage factory.”

“Nicole!” Waverly exclaims, incensed, covering Ham Solo’s ears with her hands. “She doesn’t mean that little one, don’t worry, she’s a big softie, really, you’ll see,” she cooes.

The pig’s fate secured, Waverly’s attention shifts to the turkey drumstick in her sister’s other hand. “‘Nonna?” she asks, sharpness creeping into her voice.

Wynonna takes another messy chomp, munching loudly. “‘Sup, Waves?”

Waverly’s eyes narrow. “Just how much have you two had to _eat_ this evening, exactly?”

“Oh, Nedley junior and I are onto our third course now. We had some stellar brisket earlier at the pig race and then a deep fried chocolate chip burrito. Man, that was the bomb and...” Wynonna trails off, registering Waverly’s pissed off expression, “oh shit—”

Waverly’s nostrils flare and she stomps at the ground. “Dammit Wynonna, I told you I was gonna _cook_ dinner tonight!”

“Seriously, sis? You expect me to pass up genuine Texas barbecue—”

Nicole decides it’s her turn to play peacemaker. “How ‘bout a home cooked breakfast instead, huh, Waves?” She runs a calming hand down Waverly’s back. “After all, if we eat dinner here we’ll have more time for those _other things_ we have planned for later.”

Wynonna chokes on a mouthful of turkey.

Waverly’s glance flicks from her sister to Nicole and softens. “That’s true.” Her hands go to Nicole’s shirt. She makes a show of fingering her collar. “You’re so smart, baby,” she simpers, looking back over at Wynonna with a wicked gleam in her eye. Then, in a blatant act of provocation, she surges up and plants a hot, wet, open-mouthed kiss on Nicole, tongue and all.

“Ew, stop that now,” Wynonna pleads in a strangled voice. “I’m real sorry, okay, babygirl,” she splutters. “I’ll never fuck with your dinner plans again. Just stop, please, I’m begging you…”

  
///

_  
Almost there, only a smidge further..._

This has to have been the longest twenty-four hours of Waverly’s life. If she doesn’t get Nicole to herself soon, someplace private, she might just explode.

The Mustang gives a heavy thump, its tires slipping and spinning. Shitsticks. She fights the wheel, correcting course, easing them over another treacherous pothole. This last stretch of road is proving slow-going, a rutted, rocky, goat track.

The night is starless, even the moon is obscured by thick silver cloud. She hasn’t seen another light since they picked up the key to the cabin at the Palo Duro Canyon ranger station. Nothing but this impenetrable black. It’s spooky. They’re a world away from the interstate here, from its procession of headlights and the woozy whoosh and whistle of endless traffic.

It’s quiet inside the car, no words, no music. Wynonna and Chrissy are crammed in the back, her unicorn wedged between them. Ham Solo’s curled up asleep on her sister’s lap, snoring, the pair of them close pals already.

Nicole’s riding shotgun. She’s all pursed lips and quiet reserve, slipping back into her head again. Waverly wishes they could rewind, relive that perfect moment at the midway, when an _I love you_ had been on the tip of her tongue, this time without Wynonna arriving to ruin it. Maybe then Nicole’d still be happy, still be here with her…

She reaches across the center console and squeezes Nicole’s knee, anxious to re-establish a connection, to bring her back. The redhead startles. Then she smiles, a fragile smile that morphs into something lustier when Waverly brushes a thumb down the inside of her pant leg.

They round a sharp bend and she thrills, spying a light at last. But it’s not the cabin, it’s a small, man-made lake with a dimly lit dock.

They crest a ridge and halle-fricken-lujah they’re finally here, the canyon a dark abyss below them, the cabin perched precariously on the rim, its porch light blazing, a beacon of brilliant gold in the pitch black night.

Outside the car, the air is sweet, heavy with late blooming honeysuckle and something else, that just before rain smell.

“It’s real pretty, Waves,” Nicole murmurs, wrapping her arms around her waist from behind, chin on her shoulder, as they take in the exterior of the cabin.

It _is_ pretty. Cosy and secluded and built out of the same salmon-colored sandstone as the surrounding terrain so that it blends seamlessly into the cliffside. It’s romantic, or at least it might be if they were alone.

“Oh look, it’s another hole.” Wynonna hangs over the porch railing, peering into the eight hundred foot deep canyon below them. “What is it with you two nerds and your obsession with holes, anyway?” Her eyes widen and she smacks her forehead. “Holy shit, that sounded so dirty. Don’t answer that.”

“Good news, Waves babe,” Chrissy pipes up from their other side. She’s fumbling with the keys, the giant bottle of whiskey tucked under her arm. “This place actually has a functional door, unlike that badass trailer you booked us in Idaho.”

Waverly sighs. Yep, if only they were alone...

The inside is rustic but clean, all cedar furniture and bare simplicity. According to the ranger, the cabin was built in the 1930s, during the Great Depression, and its furnishing reflects that era. There’s no TV, very little of anything that runs on electricity, in fact. But a beautiful slate fireplace dominates the compact living room.

Chrissy stoops to inspect one of the few powered gadgets in the cabin. “What’s this weird-ass contraption?” She pokes at it, spinning the turntable, befuddled.

Wynonna peeks over her shoulder. “Seriously, sweetcheeks?” She clicks her tongue at the blonde. “How’ve you never seen a _record player_ before? Fuck me, Generation Z truly are soulless.”

Chrissy rolls her eyes and hips checks her sister. “Don’t be asinine. You’re only a year older than me, Wynonna.”

Leaving them to their bickering, Waverly follows Nicole out to the Mustang to help fetch their bags. But when they return to the bedroom they’d assumed was theirs they find it...occupied.

“What the frick ‘Nonna? Get out of our bed!”

The other two are lying side by side on the queen-sized mattress, Ham Solo nestled between them. “ _Your_ bed?” Wynonna smarms. She clasps her hands behind her head, a sly gleam in her eye. “What gave you that idea, baby sis? It’s first in, first served, ya know.”

_Unbelievable!_

“This way around makes no sense, Wynonna. The other room only has bunk beds.”

“Well I don’t see why you’re automatically entitled to the better bed just because you and Haughtpants are banging now. There are three of us, you know,” Wynonna drawls, stroking Ham Solo, “we need our space.”

Shitsticks. She’s totally doing this on purpose. It’s gotta be revenge for squicking her out with that kiss at the county fair.

“Also,” Wynonna adds with a smirk, “I have a dire phobia of bunk beds after my stints in juvie. You know that, babygirl.”

How convenient.

“No, I did NOT know that because you’ve NEVER once mentioned it before,” Waverly snaps, hands on hips now. “Funny that.”

“Waves,” Nicole intervenes, sounding tired. She runs her hands up and down Waverly’s arms to calm her. “It’s okay, let ‘em have it.” She casts a withering glance at her sister. “I’m sure the other bed will be... _cosier_...anyway.”  
  
The tension drains out of her shoulders and she allows Nicole to propel her into the adjacent bedroom. She’s still furious though, and keeps rambling, even as Nicole guides her down onto the lower bunk.

“Can you believe her? She’s driving me bananas today, I swear she’s on a mission to stop us…” she trails off, puzzled, because Nicole’s pulling a beach towel out of her suitcase. “Baby, what are you doing?”

Nicole stills, guilt in her eyes. “I’m just gonna go for a quick dip in that lake we passed. I-I’m feeling cooped up, I need a workout. I can’t run at the moment, but the docs said I could swim.” She rubs the back of her neck, averting her gaze.

Nicole’s always been a terrible, terrible liar and Waverly’s not buying this shit. She’s putting off their talk, again.

“It’s crazy late for a workout, Nic...it’s almost ten.” She holds out her palm, beckoning for her to join her on the bed. “We’re finally alone. We were going to talk about Dallas, remember? You promised...and then do...” she looks up at Nicole through batted lashes, “those _other things_.”

Nicole meets her gaze, visibly torn. “I know, and we will.” She moves to sit beside her. She’s so tall, though, that she smacks her head on the top bunk. “Fuck...dammit, Wynonna.” She rubs her head and sighs. “I just need to work through a few things first, okay? I won’t be long.” She leans over and brushes an apologetic kiss to Waverly’s temple.

But Waverly’s not having it. She knots her hands in Nicole’s shirt to keep her close, to stop her leaving. She dips down, her lips seeking out that sensitive spot at the underside of Nicole’s jaw, the place she knows oh so well. “Stay, _please_ ,” she hums. She tongues the delicate skin that thrums over Nicole’s pulse point, inhaling vanilla.

“God, Waverly.” Nicole shudders hard, and for a moment she’s sure that she’s won. But then Nicole’s gently prying her fingers from her shirt, easing out of her hold, and dammit if that doesn’t taste a bit like rejection. “I-I’m sorry, baby...I need to do this...I’ll be back real soon though.” She has the look of a cornered animal about her now; desperate, hungry for freedom.

Waverly blinks, and just like that, Nicole’s out the door.

She digs her nails into the edge of the bed, frustrated, her heart closing like a fist.

The prospect of seeing her mom again is obviously messing with Nicole’s head, but she’s going to extreme lengths now to dodge talking about it. It stings. She has all of this love inside of her, ready to spill out, ready to help Nicole through it, but she keeps being deprived of the chance.

She stumbles into the living room in a downhearted daze. She hits a wall of noise. There’s a record spinning away, the Cowboy Junkies’ drowsy version of _Sweet Jane_ droning out. Wynonna and Chrissy are sprawled in adjacent sofas, the whiskey bottle clinking back and forth between them as they knock back shot after shot at a dizzying speed.

She slumps down next to Chrissy, plucking the glass out of her best friend’s fingers and downing its amber contents in one fiery gulp.

“Hey—” Chrissy yelps.

“Someone’s in a mood,” Wynonna drawls, voice already whiskey-soaked. She eyes Waverly curiously. “Let me guess...it’s got something to do with a certain bossy ginger streaking out the front door a minute ago?”

Waverly worries her lower lip, her gaze fixed glumly on the vase of fresh cut violets on the coffee table. “Uh-huh.”

“What happened, girl?” Chrissy snatches her glass back and tops it up. “We thought you two’d locked yourselves away to get busy with the _banging_.” She elbows Waverly and grins. “That’s why we cranked the music up real loud.”

If only...

“I’ve got it!” Wynonna snaps her fingers. “You totally got your freak on didn’t ya, Waves? Oh man, I should’ve warned you...Haught’s not into any kinky shit. I hope you didn’t pull out the handcuffs and ask her to do the cop roleplay thing, ‘cause she’s real sensitive about that one!”

What the fudge? How does she...? But no, sometimes it _is_ just better _not_ to know.

When she remains tight-lipped, Wynonna leans forward, face solemn. “Seriously though, sis, what gives? Where’d Nicole go?”

Waverly slumps lower in the sofa, sighing. “She took off to go swimming in that lake we passed on the way in...I-I think to avoid having to talk to me about her mom, _again_.”

Wynonna frowns, levelling her with a hard stare.

“What?” she squeaks, unaccustomed to being on the receiving end of a disapproving look from her wild sister.

“It’s just that...sometimes, when somebody runs, you’ve gotta chase them. Even if it seems like they really don’t want you to….”

A kind of exasperated fondness flickers in her sister’s grey-blue gaze, and Waverly can tell she’s recalling Nicole’s dogged pursuit of her after she bolted in Vegas.

“...Haught’s all about the buttoned up perfection, babygirl. She doesn’t think she’s allowed to be broken. She’s stubborn as fuck too, so she’ll keep on hiding her damage if you let her. But she’s been wound tighter than a Southern Baptist preacher today. She needs to talk to someone, and we need to know what the deal is in Dallas. I don’t like going in blind...If you won’t chase her, I will. But you’re better equipped.”

She bites her lip. Shoot, Wynonna’s right.

She can’t rely on Nicole talking about this later, not when they’re anywhere near a bed. She needs to push harder, fight harder. Go after her and break her open, now.

She thinks back to Nicole handing her that ball at the midway, somehow understanding before she did what it would mean for her to win that unicorn on her own merit.

Maybe that’s how you know, for sure, that somebody loves you—when they figure out what you need and give it to you, without you asking.

Nicole might not think she needs help right now, but she does...and Waverly’s going to give it.

No more ‘laters’, nuh-uh.

///

  
It was the glimpse of the lake on the drive in that did it.

All day long Nicole’s been a whirlwind inside, time pressing down on her like a vise, as Dallas looms large.

The dark water called to her, a siren song, promising a familiar fix, some respite from all of it.

She toes off her boots, tugs off her socks, dumping them on the rough-hewn dock. Her clothes follow, all of them, her movements feverish, frantic, until there’s nothing between her bare skin and the moist night air.

Above her, the clouds keep rolling in, pregnant, silver, ominous. It’s still, not a whisper of a breeze, the sort of perfect stillness that often precedes a summer storm in Texas.

The surface of the lake is black glass. So smooth that she can see her reflection, wild-eyed and naked. She gazes down at it, tracing a line under her jaw, where the ghost of Waverly’s hot kiss still burns.

It killed her, running out on her like that. She almost turned back a half dozen times on the walk over here. But the thought of coming apart at the seams in front of Waverly is unbearable. She needs to do this, needs to get this out of her system now so that she can be present with her later. Make slow, attentive love to her in the way that she deserves.

Galvanized, she strides to the edge of the dock and shakes out her limbs, bracing for the lake’s cold embrace.

She plunges in, diving deep, suspended in a slow glide for a few silent seconds. Then the first kick and she’s off, cleaving through the black water with powerful rhythmic strokes, aiming for the middle.

At first the emptiness that she so craves remains elusive. Instead, every cut of her arm through the cold water conjures up a sharp memory or a well-worn question: What do you look like now? Do you still sing Lucinda Williams songs while you make your morning coffee? Why wasn’t I enough to make you stay? What was _wrong_ with me?

She kicks harder, desperate to silence this clamoring, this pitiful thing inside of her that keeps loving, hoping, howling for her mother.

She ups her tempo even more, churning through the water in a relentless, driving fury, every muscle screaming now, pulse pounding, her injured leg throbbing with every kick.

And then, finally, she’s there: at the edge.

Her muscles seize up, her lungs cry _too much_ , and adrenaline surges through her veins like a hit, a kind of Novocaine for her heart, numbing the old pain, the wretched hope.

Overcome by the sweet relief of it, she takes a deep breath and slips beneath the water, sinking down, down, down until her bare feet make contact with the sludgy bottom. She stays there, motionless, in that dark, clogged silence until her lungs burn, forcing her back to the surface with a violent gasp.

“Nicole!”

_Uh-oh._

It’s Waverly, the shrillness in her voice unmistakable. She squints at the dimly lit dock, registering the tiny figure there, just a speck, really.

_Crap, that’s a helluva long way back._

She tries for an answering shout, some reassurance, but she’s too winded, the sound doesn’t carry far enough.

So instead she begins the long swim in, slower now, taking it stroke by agonizing stroke. A breeze has whipped up, ruffling the surface of the lake, the chop making the going that much harder.

Two-thirds of the way back her rhythm falters, becomes sluggish and sloppy. A bone-deep fatigue has set in, and the leg the rattler bit is riding low in the water, more like an anchor, dragging her down.

Panic flutters in her chest. She’s really not sure that she’s left enough in the tank this time. Her ears are ringing and she can barely lift her arms above the surface now. But then Waverly’s calling for her again, and she pushes on, swimming blindly towards her voice.

One last, desperate lunge and her fingertips finally brush up against the dock. She clings to it, sucking in deep lungfuls of air, completely spent, never so grateful to hear the lazy slap of water on wood.

Waverly dashes to the edge, dropping to her knees to frame Nicole’s face with frantic hands. “Christ Nic, are you okay?” She pushes back the wet hair plastered to her forehead, checking her over with frightened, anxious eyes. “What the hell happened out there? You look wrecked.”

“Just...give me a sec,” Nicole pants, still short of breath, “I-I swam...out...too far.”

The admission only intensifies the concern in Waverly’s eyes, and Nicole hates that she’s worrying her again. All she seems to do lately is worry her…

Desperate to get back to her feet, to prove to Waverly that she’s fine, she tries to heft herself up onto the dock. But she’s too weak, her spent biceps quake with the effort, and Waverly has to intervene, hauling her up by her underarms.

Heat flares in Waverly’s gaze as she registers Nicole’s state of undress. But then she’s swaddling her up in the beach towel, pressing close to share her warmth, her fingertips fluttering at Nicole’s throat, all tender concern.

“God, you’re shaking like a fricken’ leaf.” Waverly leans back and frowns up at her. “When I got here, I-I couldn’t see you. I called and I called and finally I could hear you splashing…but shoot, you were so slow…I almost jumped in to rescue you…what were you doing so far out, Nicole?”

She bites the inside of her cheek. The truth, that sometimes she laces up her damage like boxing gloves, pushes her body to the extreme limit, to the edge of giving up, to quiet the noise in her head, is something she’d rather not burden Waverly with.

“My bad, baby...I just lost track of time, misjudged the distance,” she lies. She brushes her lips to Waverly’s cheek. “Nothing to get upset about.”

“Don’t get upset?” Waverly repeats, an edge to her voice. “You take off late at night, to go swimming in a pitch black lake on your own, even though you’re on high dose pain meds for your _injured_ leg…and then you almost _drown_ yourself…and I’m not supposed to worry?” She shakes her head at Nicole, incredulous, and takes a step back.

The sky flickers shock-bright white. As if in reply, the cicadas in the dark streak of woodland behind them suddenly roar into song. Yep, that summer storm’s rolling in…

“Waverly—”

“Nuh-uh, Nicole.” The brunette holds her palms out, keeping her at bay, voice raised now so as to be heard over the buzz of the cicadas. “Don’t pretend like this is nothing. You keep doing reckless shit...you hurled yourself at that huge jackhole in Idaho and got thrown into a car...you leapt in front of a fricking _rattlesnake_ in Arizona, and now this...” she gesticulates wildly at the lake. “...crazy nightswimming caper...and oh yeah, you took a summer job fighting wildfires in the most fire-prone place on earth. Who the fudge does that?”

The corners of Nicole’s mouth twitch. “The daughter of a firefighter?”

“It’s not funny,” Waverly chides, leveling her with a despairing look. “I checked the web every day to see if a fire had broken out where you were based...every goddamn day for six weeks!”

She can’t help the dopey smile that provokes. “You did?” She steps back into Waverly’s space. When she doesn’t retreat, Nicole gets bolder, trailing tentative fingertips down her cheek.

Waverly’s lashes sweep up and she soft blinks at her. “I did.” She covers Nicole’s hand with her own, holding it in place. “I was worried...and I’m even more worried now. Because I'm starting to think that you don’t care what happens to you. That there’s a part of you that actually _wants_ to get hurt.”

“Waves, that’s not—”

“Hush, let me finish.” Sheet lightning flashes again, rendering the world in monochrome, illuminating the anguish on Waverly’s face. “I-I’m scared Nicole, because I have all of these…” her breath hitches, “ _feelings_ …”

The word comes out husky, half-broken, the vulnerability in it cutting Nicole to the core.

“...and I can’t lose you. I know this recklessness has something to do with your mom, that she must’ve hurt you real bad...I-I need you to let me in, so I can help you, keep you safe. But every time I get close you put it off...push me away.” She takes Nicole’s hand, kisses her knuckles and looks up at her imploringly. “Please, _please_...talk to me.”

A strong gust of wind hits, causing the rickety dock to lurch disconcertingly beneath them. Her stomach clenches and she’s not sure if it’s all the swaying or Waverly’s desperate plea that triggers it.

She can’t keep avoiding this. But talking about it means admitting out loud how profoundly this thing’s still got its hooks in her, and that’s...really hard.

And Waverly’s been through so much. This thing with her mom is _nothing_ compared to the shit she’s endured, the number of people she’s lost. It doesn’t feel like she has the right to be hung up on this, to burden Waverly with it.

Waverly’s looking at her so expectantly, though. If she keeps holding back she’s going to hurt her, maybe even risk losing her, and that’s unthinkable.

She blows out a breath. “Okay, baby.” She tucks a wild, windswept strand of hair behind the brunette’s ear. “Let’s do this thing. Back at the cabin though, yeah? I reckon that storm’s gonna hit soon.”

Waverly shakes her head. “Uh-uh, we’re doing this right now. The storm’s still miles off, there’s no thunder yet.” She worries her lip in that adorable way of hers, determination blazing in her eyes. “No more laters, Nicole.”

Well alright then…

“Let me put some clothes on, at least?”

Waverly acquiesces with a nod and a shy smile.

While she shimmies into her jeans, straps on her bra and buttons up her shirt, Waverly tracks every move, her lips parted, her gaze possessive, covetous almost.

The air between them grows heavy, charged with more than just the impending storm. She’s pretty sure that if she tried to initiate those _other things_ right here, right now, in spite of everything, Waverly wouldn’t resist.

But that’s what she did in Vegas, used sex as a shield, substituting physical intimacy for emotional intimacy. She can’t do that again.

They settle at the end of the dock, legs dangling, the choppy water whipping wildly at their feet. Waverly laces their fingers together and squeezes expectantly.

Nicole sucks in her cheeks. Where the heck to start with something like this?

“So, I-I kinda fucked up my mom’s life from the get go,” she chokes out, finally. “She was only eighteen when she got pregnant with me and married my dad...she was ‘sposed to major in fine arts at Southern Methodist...but that all went to crap when she got knocked up…”

It’s yet another reason she can never imagine picket-fencing Waverly in. She knows only too well what it can do to someone to have their wings clipped too young, to have their potential squandered in the suburbs.

“She loved my dad, but she wasn’t meant for domestic life. She had...maybe still has...a wild streak, a restlessness to her.”

Waverly leans her head on Nicole’s shoulder. “Like Wynonna?”

_More like you. Fiery, impetuous, crazy smart...precious._

But she goes along with it. “Yeah, kinda.” She smiles crookedly. “Except blonder and not so big on the donuts.”

In her memories, faded and fickle as they are, her mother’s always painting or dancing, her wheatfield blonde hair held back in a makeshift ponytail, brown eyes sparkling like sunlight shining through whiskey.

She was a beautiful mess, a whirlwind, and from the very beginning it’d felt like their days together were numbered.

“In the months before she left she started acting strange, real unsettled and jittery,” Nicole recounts. “Then she started taking off on the reg. Sometimes for a few hours, sometimes whole nights. She’d come back all mussed up and bright-eyed.”

Waverly frowns at her. “Shoot, was she having an affair?”

“Maybe,” she mutters. “My dad suspected as much at first...I heard them fightin’ about it. But after she left I asked him and he was adamant not. So I dunno...it’s just one of the many, many questions I have.”

She gazes out over the lake, steeling herself to relive this next, more difficult part. There are whitecaps out there now, foam flicking straight upwards into the darkness.

“Anyway, I didn’t cope so well with these...absences. I started doing this... _thing_...where I’d wait for her inside the front door, at the bottom of the stairs. I wouldn’t budge until she came home.”

She’d convinced herself that as long as she was there, faithfully waiting in that place, her mother would _always_ come back to her. And she did, every time..until one day, she didn’t.

“One morning in early August I came home from some pickup basketball and she was gone again. But this time...she’d left a note on the fridge.” She squeezes her eyes shut, conjuring up that fluorescent pink post-it. “It was just two words...‘I’m sorry’, and she’d taken a suitcase.”

Gone, just like that, without any sort of goodbye. Leaving her heart a torn thing, and a hole in her life so big some days it felt like she could fit the sky inside it.

“Oh, sweetie.” Waverly loops a comforting arm around her waist, hugging her close.

She buries her nose in Waverly’s hair, battling the urge to stop now, to stop before she tears herself wide open, exposing, irrevocably, how deep her own cracks run.

But she promised...

“I-I refused to believe it,” she forces out, voice choked and raw. “I was sure she’d come back. So I sat there, in that spot inside the front door, waitin’, while my dad was out with some cop buddies searching for her. I sat there for three days straight...counting the little orange flowers in the wallpaper, over and over again.”

There were seven hundred and eleven of those ugly-ass flowers in that entrance foyer. She still has nightmares about them sometimes.

“On the fourth morning my dad scooped me up, sat me down, and told me she was likely never coming home...that it was just us now and we had to get on with our lives. He was real brutal about it.” She hangs her head. “He had to be.”

Waverly squeezes her hand. “My poor baby.” She can feel the brunette’s gaze on her, but can’t bring herself to meet it, not yet, for fear of seeing pity there, or something worse.

“I tried to forget her Waves, really I did. But I’ve never been any good at loving in moderation, and I loved her too damn much to let her go easy. I-I was a mess for months. If felt like there was this... _animal_ inside me, scrabbling, howling for her.”

As if grief had somehow made its own body, inside her body.

“I barely ate, I fucked up at school…I started taking risks to get a rush, to quell the pain...” Like sneaking out late at night to Joe Pool Lake, swimming out further each time, never quite sure if she’d make it back.

Waverly makes a concerned rumbling sound, as if she’s just confirmed her worst fears.

“Eventually, my dad resorted to extreme measures. He erased all traces of my mom, anything that’d remind me of her. He took her photos down off the walls, gave her clothes and artwork to Goodwill, until all I had left of her...” she fingers the delicate silver chain around her neck, “was _this_.”

Even then, she’d sometimes wander around the house touching the things her mother used to touch, looking for echoes of her fingers.

“When that didn’t fix me either, he took a job in Canada, moved us all the way up to Purgatory.” And oh, how she had railed against that at first. “My heart was in Texas, so I thought it’d be awful, but I met Wynonna...and _you_ ,” she says softly, bringing the back of Waverly’s hand to her lips, “and bit by bit, it got better.”

When her mother left it’d felt like all the color seeped out of her world. As if overnight she was seeing in grayscale. But then Waverly and Wynonna burst into her life and day by day, month by month, all of that color bled back in.

“I thought I’d let her go, Waves.” She stares fixedly into churning water below them. “Then that damn card arrived. I tried to ignore it, I did...I couldn’t. Then I convinced myself that coming down here was just about gettin’ some answers…”

The sky flickers brilliant white again. This time, there’s a clap of thunder in reply. The storm is imminent.

“But I realized today, that all this time, I’ve never stopped hoping that she loves me. That deep down, I believed—still believe—that if I just endured long enough, she’d come back to me.”

She wrenches her gaze up to meet Waverly’s, finally. “Isn’t that pathetic?”

“Oh Nicole, sweetie...no.” Waverly clasps a palm to her face, running a tender thumb along her cheek. “It’s not pathetic to hope like that. It’s beautiful...and that you keep loving so big, in spite of being hurt so bad, that’s even more beautiful.”

There’s none of the contempt she feels for herself reflected back in Waverly’s gaze, just adoration and sweet concern. Something loosens in her chest and she feels braver, brave enough to speak the question she’s been circling on like a bruise for years.

“I keep wonderin’ Waves...” She swallows down a lump in her throat. “I must have done something wrong, right? For her to leave me like I was nothing...”

Waverly makes a hissing sound and pulls Nicole to her chest. “Oh baby, this is so _not_ your fault.” She strokes Nicole’s hair. “I don’t know what went on in your mom’s head, or what you’re gonna find in Dallas...but I do know that sometimes people just go, and it’s not a reflection on the people they leave behind. It’s like you said in Vegas...some people are born to leave.”

She closes her eyes, losing herself in Waverly’s sweet scent and soft embrace. When she opens them again it’s raining. Not the big, fat drops that normally precede a storm, but a fine mist that dances in the breeze, catches in her lashes.

Waverly doesn’t seem to notice. She tips Nicole’s chin up and traces a slow line down her nose, over her lips, her chin, her neck, to the center of her chest. “Nobody in their right mind would _want_ to leave you Nicole,” she vows, something like love in the soft tone of her voice. “You’re special.”

Under Waverly’s adoring gaze she feels warm, lit from within, and for the first time today, truly calm. It’s been a kind of undressing, exposing this part of herself. Raw and terrifying. But it was a mistake to wait so long. She’s always been like a wolf with her grief, preferring to hide it in her den, hold it close. For Waverly, for them, she has to be better.

The mist intensifies to a drizzle. Waverly dips her mouth to drink rain from the pulse at Nicole’s throat. “It’s not your fault,” she repeats, before leaning in and kissing her gently with wet lips.

And that’s how she discovers, that with the right person, in the right moment, a kiss can feel just the tiniest bit like healing...

///

  
“Holy shitballs! What the heck happened in here?”

Waverly surveys the living room in horror. She’s standing just inside the door, her hand clasped in Nicole’s, the pair of them windswept and breathless from their mad dash back to the cabin in the rain.

Outside, the storm’s raging with a vengeance. Inside...well fudge, it looks like a mini-tornado has struck.

Wynonna’s passed out, that huge-ass bottle of fancy whiskey clutched to her chest, now two-thirds empty. Chrissy’s snoring up her own storm on the sofa across from her, giving the thunder outside a real run for its money.

But her drunk-as-a-skunk sister and BFF aren’t the main attraction here. Nope, it’s the bag of Doritos and box of Fruity Cheerios that have been shredded and scattered all over the furniture like crunchy, rainbow-colored confetti.

Nicole chuckles softly. “Looks like these two idiots knocked themselves out and Ham Solo raided their munchies stash.” She narrows her eyes, scouring the room. “Where is the little fiend, anyway?”

Waverly joins the hunt, eventually spying a curly pink tail poking out from under something black on the floor.

Uh-oh.

Ham Solo’s made a nest out of Wynonna’s _beloved_ leather jacket, and it’s now sporting chomp marks down one sleeve and a three inch chew hole in the back.

“Holllly shit,” Nicole exclaims, cracking up. “Your mama’s gonna flip her lid at you in the morning, Ham Sandwich.” She uncovers the pig and he emits a startled squeal. “She might even let me fry you up for bacon!”

“Nicole,” Waverly hisses, elbowing her in the ribs. “Hush now. He’s wicked smart, he probably understands you.” She scratches Ham Solo between his ears and he chuffs. “You know, I think we should call him something else...it’s not right that he’s named after a meat product. He should have a _proper_ pig name...something scientific or historically appropriate, like Linnaeus or Moccus.”

Nicole grins at her like she’s said something cute. “Uh, baby, hate to break it to you...but there’s no way in hell Wy’s calling her pet pig either of those things.”

She huffs. It’s true. Wynonna’d probably just rename him something dumbass, like Bourbon or Elvis Pigsley.

Once they’ve cleaned up Ham Solo’s mess, Nicole decides to put the two drunken idiots to bed. She scoops Chrissy up in quaking arms and lumbers off with her, returning a few moments later for Wynonna.

“ _Oof._ Jesus, Earp, you’re getting tubby,” she grunts, visibly straining under her friend’s weight. “Might wanna lay off the ol’ donuts, huh?” Wynonna’s head lolls to one side and she sleep-snorts. Nicole flashes Waverly a bright smile. “Oh, I _like_ this...she can’t quip back.”

Nicole hobbles down the hallway, muttering silly things at Wynonna. Ham Solo circles at her feet, and Waverly follows this time too.

She leans against the bedroom door jam, watching on, enamored, as Nicole patiently unlaces her sister’s boots, covers her with a blanket, fetches a glass of water and a pack of Ibuprofen for her night stand, then tenderly brushes some dark hair back from her eyes.

_She’s going to be an amazing parent one day._

The thought, and the sharp yearning that accompanies it, makes her breath catch. She’s doing it again. Building a home for them in her head, laying the bricks, filling it with apple-cheeked children.

It’s crazy how much she wants forever with Nicole.

What are the odds that her first love will be her _last_? But then, it’s impossible to imagine being with anyone else. Even more so now that Nicole has finally let her in, let Waverly see her in all of her cracked perfection.

“Waves?” Nicole’s suddenly right there in front of her. “What are you thinking about?” She runs the back of her fingers down Waverly’s cheek. “You’ve got that look...like you’re trying to figure something out.”

Yeah no, probably best not to confess her whole _I want to marry you and build the perfect family neither of us had_ fantasy right now.

“I was thinking…” she begins instead, in a low, smoky voice, backing Nicole up against the closest wall and pinning her there. “That I wanna get you out of these damp clothes,” she fingers Nicole’s shirtsleeves, “and take you to bed.”  
  
Nicole swallows hard, her gaze dipping to Waverly’s lips. “I-I like the sound of that." But something like apprehension flickers across her face.

Shoot, maybe this is too much, too soon after everything at the lake. Nicole’s clearly exhausted, and there’s a sadness lingering in her eyes that makes Waverly’s heart hurt.

“We don’t have to do _that_ tonight, Nic,” she assures her, softly. “We can just go to bed...and I can hold you.” Make you feel safe, make you forget about seeing her again soon.

Nicole rapid blinks at her. “No,” she blurts. “I want you, Waves...I want you _so_ bad.” The raw need and sweet lilt in her voice combine to hit Waverly right between the legs. “It’s just…” Nicole ducks her chin and rubs the back of her neck. “I’m kinda nervous about the, uh, striptease…”

God, how had she forgotten about that? It’d been all she could think about on the drive between the fair and here. But now...

“S’okay baby, you don’t have to worry about that tonight.” She molds herself to Nicole’s tall frame, grinding a little, conscious that they’re only a few feet away from her sleeping sister and best friend, but apparently she has zero self-control. “I-I can take a rain check.”

“No, I want to.” Nicole bites her lip, the hint of a blush staining her cheeks. “I mean, I don’t _want_ to ‘cause I’m pretty sure I’m gonna suck at it…”

Waverly scoffs. She’s never known Nicole Haught to suck at anything.

“But a bet’s a bet...even if I was hustled.” Nicole smiles indulgently at her. “And I want to make you happy, Waverly.”

Oh gosh, the way Nicole’s looking at her right now, like she’d find a way to give her all the stars in the sky if she asked for them...

“Well, in that case...” Where to do this, though? Their bunkroom isn’t exactly an appealing setting. “Living room?” she suggests.

Nicole’s brows shoot up and she casts a nervous glance over to the bed where Wynonna and Chrissy are both snoring away, Ham Solo curled into a ball between them.

“They’re out for the count, trust me,” Waverly promises. “We won’t be seeing them until late morning.” The idiots downed so much booze it’ll be a miracle if they don’t wake up with alcohol poisoning.

Nicole looks dubious and mutters something about Wynonna flipping her lid if they get caught, but she lets Waverly lead her back into the living room.

The storm’s louder in here, the wind an insistent low howl that rattles the window panes and whistles in through the cracks around the door. Waverly shivers, relieved to be safe and snug inside.

They thumb through the cabin’s dusty record collection, shoulders brushing, hips bumping, looking for something, _anything_ , that’s appropriate mood music. It’s tough. There’s basically nothing post-1990 here that isn’t Bluegrass. She pulls out a red and black record sleeve and waves it at Nicole with a devilish grin.

Nicole gapes, horrified, until she realizes Waverly’s only messing with her. “Thank god. There’s _no way_ I’m stripping to Milli Vanilli,” she chuckles, “not even for you, baby.”

Eventually, Waverly settles on an old favorite: Springsteen’s _Born in the USA_. She flips the sleeve over and runs a reverent finger down the track list.

Nicole peers over her shoulder. “The Boss is definitely your jam, huh?”

“My daddy worshiped this album.” It slips out like the confession it is. She’s never admitted this link to Nicole, never wanted to admit to liking anything he did. “He used to play it all the way through for me some nights on his old Gibson...when he wasn’t too wasted. We’d sing together.”  
  
The neck was warped and the fifth fret buzzed but he’d loved that guitar, had made up for its shortcomings with a voice that was sweeter and smoother than the bourbon he drowned his heart in.

He wasn’t all bad, her daddy. There was just enough good in him that she’d wanted him to love her, and that it hurt when it felt like he didn’t.

Nicole claims her waist from behind, bringing Waverly’s back flush to her front. “You okay?”

Waverly nods. They’ve dwelt long enough on their deadbeat parents tonight. Between them they have more fault lines than California, but when Nicole holds her this close they’re something else, something flawless and indestructible.

“Good,” Nicole husks, her lips grazing Waverly’s ear, “because you’re not allowed to be sad when I’m about to get naked for you.” Her long fingers splay across Waverly’s belly, burning like a brand. Her entire body pulses with life under that touch, even her fingertips start to throb. Shitsticks, does she _want_...

“So then, which Springsteen anthem am I gonna be making a fool out of myself to this time?” Nicole asks.

She tamps down the impatient, animal thing inside that’s aching to be satisfied now, and points to track five, _Downbound Train_.

“Huh. Interesting choice. That song’s kinda bleak, isn’t it?”

“Mhm, a smidge.” She angles her cheek to nuzzle Nicole’s neck. “Just trust me on this one, please Nic.”

The lyrics _are_ lump-in-your-throat sad, all hard times and lost love in a small town. But the tempo’s perfect to strip to, and there’s a grittiness to it that plays into the blue collar, cowgirl fantasy of Nicole that’s been driving her to distraction all day. Not that she’s gonna admit to that…

“Well alright then...let’s do this thing.” Nicole bounces on her toes like a prize fighter and shakes out her limbs in the way that she does before big games.

But just as Waverly’s about to drop the tonearm onto the spinning record Nicole holds up a hand. “W-wait a sec.” She jogs over to the coffee table, scoops up Ethan’s Stetson, and takes a long pull from the whiskey bottle.

It’s kind of adorable, how nervous Nicole is about this. Rock climbing, paragliding, fighting wildfires, jumping in front of a rattlesnake? No biggie, apparently. But stripping...well now.

When Nicole’s finally all set, Waverly starts the music and drops into the nearest armchair, tapping her foot in time with the grungy guitar riffs that open _Downbound Train_.

Nicole stands stock still through the first reverb-soaked drumroll, attuning her senses to the tempo of the music. Her eyes are closed, thumbs tucked into her belt loops, the Stetson angled low.

_I had a job, I had a girl. I had something going, mister, in this world…_

The rasp of Springsteen’s voice brings Nicole to life. Her long lashes flutter open, and she makes smoldering eye contact with Waverly. Then she begins to move her hips and shoulders in a slow, winding vortex that’s pure molasses and sex.

Waverly sighs in appreciation. Nicole’s gorgeous like this, all fluid grace, cheeks flushed a pretty pink, storm-damp hair curling, untameable at her neck.

_Our love went bad, times got hard. Now I work down at the car wash, where all it ever does is rain…_

The Stetson goes first. Nicole tosses it onto Waverly’s head with a deft flick and a broad grin. It’s a size too big for her, though, the brim tips low over her eyes. She casts it aside impatiently.

Nicole’s hands slide to her belt, her hips swaying in perfect time with the thrumming, pulsing bass. She unclasps the buckle and uncoils the leather with a crack so violent it ignites a fire low in Waverly’s belly.

_She packed her bags, left me behind…_

Nicole’s fingers are working the buttons on that sexy plaid shirt now. She bites her lower lip seductively, taking her time. One button…two buttons…three buttons…

Her shirt gapes open, exposing a sliver of creamy skin and a lacy blue bra. Waverly’s mouth goes cotton dry. Is it possible to perish from desire alone? Because watching Nicole right now feels a lot like drowning above water.

Not that she’s overplaying this. There’s no thrusting, grinding, or anything overtly lewd. There’s a solemness to her gaze and movement that honors Springsteen’s busted-heart lyrics, making Waverly crave her that much more.

_You said your love had never died, you were waiting for me at home. Put on my jacket, I ran through the woods, I ran til I thought my chest would explode…_

They’re deep into the bridge now, and Nicole comes to a near-standstill to match the spareness of the music. The bass and the drums are gone; there’s only Springsteen’s voice, lost in a somber dream sequence, and the long sorry notes of an organ behind it.

Nicole’s inhabiting the song, channeling its desolation, a wounded look in her eyes as she pops the last button on her shirt.

It hits Waverly hard then, what she’s done by accident. The shattered hero in this song loves too big, keeps chasing what he’s lost, won’t let go. So very much like Nicole.

Shoot, what a shitty song choice...and yet, she’s making something achingly beautiful out of it.

_Then I heard that long whistle whine, and I dropped to my knees…_

Taking her cue from the lyrics, Nicole drops to her knees at Waverly’s feet, devotion shining in her soft brown eyes.

She shucks off her shirt, tossing it into Waverly’s lap with a flourish, exposing luscious curves and sleek, lithe muscles.

But Waverly’s still hung up on the kneeling. Her stupid brain’s doing it again...jumping into the future, conjuring up a proposal, marriage, everything.

Nicole catches it this time. Soft wonder transforms her features. _Goddamn telepathy._ Waverly’s cheeks flame and she buries her face in Nicole’s balled shirt, taking refuge in it, inhaling vanilla and a hint of salt-sweet sweat.

_This is so fricking embarrassing. We’re too young. She’s gonna think I’m nuts._

There’s a heavy thump as the bass guitar and the drums kick in for the last verse. Nicole brushes a tender kiss to Waverly’s knee on the way back up to her feet.

When Waverly dares to uncover her face, Nicole’s hands are poised at the top button of her Levi's. That soft wonder from a moment ago is gone, replaced with a cocksure smugness that makes her ache in an entirely different way.

 _Downbound Train_ winds up then, though, and the quiet, staccato guitar intro to the next track, _I’m on Fire_ , whispers out. The change in tempo throws Nicole. She stalls, blinking, like a spell’s been broken.

Waverly swallows a frustrated whine. She squirms in her seat, a hot and bothered mess.

“I’m sorry Waves, the song cut out.” Nicole rubs the back of her neck, sheepish. “And the way you’re looking at me got me all nervous.”

_Seriously?_

Waverly gets to her feet. She steps into Nicole space, hooking a finger under each of her bra straps. “ _I_ make _you_ nervous.”

Nicole smiles down at her, doe-eyed and dimpled. “You know you do.”

Her heart flutters wildly under Waverly’s palm, proof positive. “You make me nervous too,” she admits, softly. “But for the record,” she takes Nicole’s hand and guides it under her dress, all the way up to her drenched panties, “you were doing it right.”

Nicole’s breath hitches and a sweet moan catches in her throat. “Waverly…”

The need breaking in the redhead’s voice spurs her on. “I’m going to finish the job for you, okay?” she coaxes.

Nicole gives a dazed but enthusiastic nod.

She kneels to blaze a feverish line of kisses down Nicole’s stomach, heading for the waistband of her jeans, the smoldering lust and bad desire of _I’m on Fire_ swelling around them.

Outside, the storm is peaking. Lightning tears through the night sky and the thunder that follows is so violent it shakes the cabin. The lamp beside them starts to flicker. But she barely registers any of it. There’s only Nicole’s warm skin under her lips and this insistent, pulsing need.

When her mouth meets rough denim she blinks up at Nicole through fringed lashes. They share a charged look as she pops the top button on the redhead’s jeans and tugs at the zipper to reveal a glimpse of blue lace.

Desire consumes her, renders her impulsive. She yanks the zipper all the way down and surges forward, nosing at Nicole’s panties.

Nicole shudders and stumbles backwards. Waverly catches her by the hips, steadies her, pulls her close again. Then, lost in lust, urged on by the hungry beat of _I’m on Fire_ , she hooks a finger inside Nicole’s underwear, not caring about removing them anymore, just wanting them out of the fricking way…

Suddenly, it’s pitch black, she can’t make out a goddamn thing, and the record player stalls mid-note, usurped by the howling gale outside.

Hot damn. The storm’s gone and knocked the power out.

“It’s official. God _hates_ me,” Nicole groans.

Waverly smiles wryly against the fabric of her girlfriend’s panties. “I think he hates me more.”

Nicole squeezes her shoulders. “You could...uh, you know...keep going?”

It’s tempting, but… “I want to see you, baby.” Things were moving a little fast, anyway. This isn’t exactly the tender lovemaking she planned. “I’m sure there are candles in the kitchen.” She gets to her feet, clinging to Nicole’s tall frame as she adjusts to the dark. “I’ll be back in a jiffy, I promise.”

She’s wrong about the candles. There aren’t any...or at least there aren’t any she can find during the intermittent flashes of bright white light from the storm.

Not that it matters. When she returns to the living room Nicole’s crouched over the fireplace, arranging kindling around pinecones with careful hands. She glances up when Waverly approaches. “I know it’s kinda warm for it.” She shrugs. “I mean, it’s the Texas Panhandle in summer...but I thought this’d be nicer than candles.”

Waverly rubs her arms. It’s not _that_ warm. Granted, she runs cold, she’d happily sit by a firepit in Barbados, but still. “It’s perfect, Nic.”

She watches on as Nicole sets the fire. It’s not easy, there’s a squall swirling down the chimney, but she nurtures the flame she’s kindled with a patience that verges on tenderness, and it’s soon a full-fledged fire, dancing tall, spitting sparks, bathing the cabin in red-gold light.

Nicole smiles up at Waverly, all soft pride and dimples. “Don’t ever tell that sister of yours this…” she scootches back from the hearth, onto the rug, “but I actually _was_ a Girl Scout for a couple of years in Dallas.”

_Of course she was._

She lowers herself into Nicole’s lap, wrapping her thighs around her waist, pressing so close that their noses almost touch and they have to go cross-eyed to see each other. “Anything to get yourself into a uniform, huh?” she teases.

“Somethin’ like that.” Nicole’s done talking, though. She’s closing that last smidge of distance, claiming Waverly’s lips in a soft, sweet kiss, her hands wandering down to the hem of her sundress. “Can I?” she husks. Waverly nods and she eases it up and over her head, her touch reverent, like she’s unwrapping a much longed for gift.

Nicole’s gaze rakes the length of her body, appreciative. Waverly feels herself burning up, and it’s not from sitting too close to the fire. “You’ve been driving me wild in that damn dress,” Nicole groans, “all day long.”

“That was kinda the point,” she reminds her with a wicked grin.

“Always with the planning,” Nicole drawls. Her hands go to Waverly’s back, tracing up the curve of her spine until she meets her bra. She unclasps it with practiced ease and Waverly tries not to dwell too hard on her doing this with Shae, with other girls...

Nicole flicks the straps down off her shoulders, cupping her bare breasts and rumbling out a possessive growl that incites a fresh ache between her legs. Then her lips are on Waverly’s throat, tongue tracing hot, hungry patterns and she knows that she’s on the edge of a precipice. That if she doesn’t make a stand now, she’s going to fall, become a boneless thing lost to those deft hands, that talented mouth.

“Baby,” she gasps, “wait…”

Nicole draws back, brown eyes brimming with concern. “What is it, Waves?”

“I was going to...” Shoot, why is this so fricken’ hard to get out? “I-I wanted…”

Realization dawns on Nicole’s face. “Oh...you want to take charge.” She brushes an apologetic kiss to her forehead. “I’m sorry...I lost my manners...you’re so sexy and I—”

She holds a hand up to Nicole’s lips, hushing her. “S’alright. It’s just,” she trails a fingertip along the sharp line of the redhead’s jaw, “how about you let me take care of _you_ tonight?”

Nicole melts into her touch, her lashes sweeping her cheeks. “Okay,” she concedes, in a bare whisper.

It feels like Nicole’s always giving too much, loving too much, not being loved enough in return. She deserves to be loved the way she loves: whole-heartedly. She wants to give that to her tonight. Even if she still hasn’t found the right moment to say the actual words yet. She can let her hands, her lips, her eyes, say it for her.

She sets to work, reaching behind Nicole’s back to unhook her bra. Free at last, her full breasts spill out into Waverly’s impatient palms. She moans appreciatively, savoring the contact, the weight of them, the way her nipples harden instantly under the flick of her thumbs.

When she glances up, Nicole’s head is thrown back, tousled hair burnished copper in the flickering firelight, the pulse below her jaw fluttering like a wild thing. So beautiful...so flipping irresistible. She surges forward, nipping at the delicate skin there, teeth scraping a fresh bruise. She wants to be tender, but there will always be a part of her that needs to mark, to claim, to brand Nicole as hers and only hers.

She moves on, kissing down the long column of Nicole’s throat, stalling when her lips brush against the cold metal of her necklace. She fingers it, that last link to her mother, studying the pendant, an intricate silver bird that gleams rose-gold in the soft firelight. She’d always thought it pretty, but tonight she’s not so sure.

What sort of mother does that? Discards a love as deep and abiding as Nicole’s? When they get to Dallas, if she comes face-to-face with this woman, it’s going to be mighty hard keeping her temper in check. She’d better have one hell of a good excuse for hurting her daughter like this, making her doubt her worth.

She’s always sensed it in Nicole, the belief that she’s defective. That beneath the steady exterior, the smooth charm, something fragile dwelt—fueled her recklessness. But now she knows for sure.

“Waverly?” Nicole nudges her chin up with a thumb. She searches her face, worried. “Is everything okay? You stopped.”

“It’s nothing, baby,” she soothes. She wants to make her feel good tonight, not dredge up her past again. “Have I ever mentioned how much _I love_ the way you say my name...all lilty and Texan...”

Nicole smiles at her, a goofy, lovestruck smile. “Oh yeah?”

“Uh-huh...and I love this little line you get right here,” she traces the crease between her brows, “when you’re concentrating real hard.” She punctuates her point with a kiss there. “And I love the way that you always just seem to know what I’m thinking...without me having to say it.”

“And I love how much you talk with your hands.” She kisses the inside of Nicole’s palms. “And I just...I-I love your hands.”

Nicole’s smile turns cocky. “Huh. Is that so?” She rubs her chin, feigning confusion. “Can’t imagine why…”

Waverly snorts. Yes, they’re masterful between her legs, but she’s always had a thing for those hands. The sureness, the tapered elegance of them. The way she feels whole again underneath them.

Still, cockiness like that deserves a reply. She smiles coyly and draws Nicole’s ring finger into her mouth, taking it all the way in, flicking, swirling and nipping at it before she slowly eases it back out, slick now with saliva. She sucks each of Nicole’s fingers in turn, her gaze locked on the redhead, enjoying the way her eyes widen, then darken with arousal, the sweet little whimpers she makes when she releases each digit.

“No more talking,” Waverly instructs, when she’s done with her tease, pushing a pliant Nicole down, until she’s flat on her back on the rug, hips pinned between her thighs.

And oh gosh, she swears she forgets everything she knows in that moment, even her name, because Nicole Haught is a vision splayed out beneath her, all sculpted lines and hair spilling around her face like a dawn blaze.

But then the fire pops beside them, spitting sparks into the air, and she kicks into action, picking up right where she left off earlier, lips at her throat, palms at her breasts. She takes her sweet time, exploring Nicole’s body in a way she’s never done before. She traces every line, every curve, savoring the soft noises her girlfriend makes as she writhes with want underneath her.

In those special places, those stations of her most insistent desire, she whispers an _I love you_ in every other language she knows. _Te amo_ into the dip above her collarbone, _Je t’aime_ into the space between her breasts, _Mi amas vin_ into her navel, _Se filō_ into the sharp cut of her hip-bone.

She lingers longest in that place below Nicole’s ribs, where she was cut protecting Chrissy. The wound’s healed now, but a star-shaped scar remains, and likely will forever. It’s strangely beautiful. She traces the outline of it with a fingertip and the redhead shudders, the taut muscle there rippling like a sheet in a stiff breeze.

She moves on, dragging her bottom lip over a few more inches of soft skin until she encounters the rough denim of those pesky Levi’s again.

The insecurities hit then. What if she sucks at this? She’s only done it twice. Both times Nicole _seemed_ to enjoy it but she came quietly, without fuss. She’s desperate to coax an honest-to-god moan from her, to dismantle her completely, to banish that sadness in her eyes, if only for a little while.

An image of Shae Pressman between Nicole’s legs flashes into her head, and her stomach knots. She can’t stand the thought of Shae satisfying the girl she loves in a way that she can’t.

_Shoot, I’m totally overthinking this._

She might not have Shae’s experience, but dammit she’s determined. And oh god, does she _want_. Galvanized now, she hooks her fingers inside the waistband of Nicole’s already unbuttoned jeans. The redhead lifts her hips, and Waverly tugs them all the way down until she’s free.

She spreads Nicole’s legs wide, settling between the silken heat of her inner thighs. She kisses, nips and sucks a languid path up each side, reveling in every breathless gasp she draws. There’s a part of her, the savage, base part, that aches to brand her initials inside these thighs, to mark this place as forever hers.

Patience apparently exhausted, Nicole tangles a gentle hand in Waverly’s hair, urging her higher. “Baby, please...”

The sight that greets her when she complies—the damp patch in the middle of Nicole’s blue panties—draws a little moan from Waverly. _So wet, for me..._

Confidence rising, she noses at the soaked fabric, pressing a firm kiss to it that has Nicole writhing underneath her, whimpering out a soft expletive.

And then her own patience is finished. She moves in a flurry, a blur, dispatching those ruined panties with desperate, fumbling hands, mouth dipping, tongue meeting Nicole’s sex, palms holding down her hips.

Lost in that first sweet taste she’s a molten thing again, mouth greedy, blood pounding in her ears, consumed by an almost feral want. But then she remembers her purpose: to comfort, to cherish. She slows things down, tongue tracing softly through those wet folds instead.

In time she finds a well-received rhythm, alternating long, flat strokes with light flicks higher up that has the redhead keening, fisting her hair. More though, she needs more, and Waverly gives it, thrusting two fingers deep inside.

“Jesus, fuck...Waverly,” Nicole cries out in a rough-edged voice, hips stuttering.

She fumbles at first, desperate to find that special spot she found last time. But then she does and oh god, the way Nicole’s insides clench around her fingers, trying to draw her deeper each time she hits home, it’s almost too much. Then the redhead starts sighing out her name, breathless and broken, like a quivering hallelujah, and it just makes her want to try harder.

Her world narrows to this sharp yearning to have Nicole come in her mouth, around her fingers, moaning out her name. She can tell she’s close now. Her muscles are rigid, steel-cable taut, and her nails are raking Waverly’s scalp, making a glorious, tangled mess out of her hair.

She seeks out Nicole’s free hand, clasping it, squeezing hard, her gaze flicking up to meet half-lidded brown eyes, trying to convey in that one single look everything she feels. Things that defy words.

That extra connection, combined with a well-timed swirl of her tongue, does it.

Nicole’s spine arches and her thighs clamp around Waverly’s head, holding her in place as her insides flutter and clench. She cries out, a wanton moan that’s exquisite in its violence and volume. The sound, and the sweet flood that trickles down Waverly’s chin and wrist as she eases Nicole through her release, sparks a surge of pride.

Nicole is beautiful when she lets go, like a leaf unfurling, then something delicate coming into bloom. Waverly just stares and stares, transfixed. She wants to commit it all to memory: Nicole’s chest heaving, her body glistening in firelit sweat-glow, the thrum of her heartbeat in their entwined hands, the satiated, sex-drunk look in her eyes.

The pulsing around her fingers subsides in time, and Nicole’s thighs fall open, releasing her. It’s crazy hot by the fire now. Too hot, really. Their sweat-slick bodies slip and slide against each other as she kisses her way back up the redhead’s flushed frame. But even in this blazing heat, every inch of their skin could be touching and it still wouldn’t be close enough for Waverly.

She brushes some damp locks back from Nicole’s forehead. “Hi,” she says, voice soft, shy.

“Hi yourself,“ Nicole husks. She slow blinks up at her, dazed and drowsy looking. “You’re really good at that.” She runs her thumb along Waverly’s bottom lip, stars in her eyes. “Like, _really_ good.”

She beams, heart soaring. Even though it’s silly, because she knows Nicole’d go on loving her if she was terrible at it. But it matters to her, because for the first time today her girlfriend looks relaxed and happy, and she made that happen.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm...amazeballs,” Nicole teases, pulling her down into a sweet, clumsy kiss, unfazed by the copious amount of her own arousal coating Waverly’s chin and mouth. But just as their tongues brush Nicole jolts and laughs against her lips.

What the heck?

“Baby,” Nicole sighs, still chuckling, “unless you’re able to be in two places at once and you’ve gotta foot fetish you neglected to mention, I think Ham Solo’s on the loose again…”

She cranes her neck. Son of a gun. The little rascal’s down by their feet, sucking and licking at Nicole’s bare toes.

“Ouch, he nipped me!”

Waverly giggles. “I think he’s hungry.”

“He’s always hungry,” Nicole grumbles. “Like master, like pig. Let’s just hope he doesn’t develop a penchant for tacos and donuts next.”

Well, he’s already picked up Wynonna’s knack for interrupting, so anything’s possible. “I better feed him.”

She makes to get up, but Nicole wraps her arms around her, holding her tight. “S’alright,” she slurs, on the verge of succumbing to that drowsiness. “He’ll be fiiiine...he can chow down on what’s left of Wy’s jacket.”

“Go to bed, silly.” She kisses the tip of Nicole’s nose, laughing. “I’ll be there in two shakes.”

Ham Solo fed and watered, Waverly returns to their bedroom expecting to find her girlfriend curled up asleep. But instead she’s propped up on an elbow, reading _On the Road_ by soft lamp light. She smiles a welcome, discarding the book, offering her arms.

Waverly slips into the tiny bed beside her, the tired springs groaning under the extra weight. “I thought you’d be out cold by now,” she murmurs, pressing so close that their skin sticks together again and she can feel the redhead’s hot breath against her cheek.

Nicole leans in, her lips grazing that sensitive spot right below her ear. “You didn’t think we were finished, did you?” she breathes, in a velvety voice that makes Waverly’s whole body ache.

God, does she want some relief, but Nicole _is_ visibly exhausted. Between the long drive, the after-effects of the rattler bite, overdoing it in the lake, and then sex, she’d have to be Supergirl not to be. “It’s okay, baby,” she soothes, running a hand down her back, “you’re dog-tired, you should get some rest.”

“No...I want to touch you...I-I _need_ to.” Nicole’s voice cracks and Waverly shivers, undone by the desperation in it.

She nods and Nicole takes that as permission to press her down into the mattress. For a moment they lie perfectly still, staring into each other’s eyes, the only sounds their heavy breathing and the steady thrum of rain on the tile roof.

Nicole frames Waverly’s face in her hands, her touch like a prayer. “How is it possible for anything to be as beautiful as you?” she whispers in wonder. Then she kisses her sweetly on the lips, saving her from rambling out an incoherent reply.

When they part, Nicole slips a thigh between Waverly’s legs, pressing against her center with delicious force. She whimpers at the contact, rolling her hips and clawing at the redhead’s back, suddenly aware of just how much she needs that release after all. But Nicole’s in no hurry to provide it. She grinds slowly, tormenting her, when all Waverly craves is her hand, or mouth, down below, now...

“Stop teasing, Nic,” she groans, nipping at the redhead’s jawline. “Please…I need you _inside_...I’ve been thinking about this all day.”

Nicole grins at her, brown eyes burning with tender lust. “All day, huh?”

More like all flipping week....since the last time they did this, way back in Vegas. She nods and buries her face in the crook of her girlfriend’s neck, embarrassed at the wantonness of the admission.

“Well, when you put it like that…”

Nicole relents in a rush, sliding her hand down between them, under the elastic of her panties, not even bothering to remove them. She cups her sex, fingertips teasing her entrance, spreading around the slickness pooling there.

Nicole pauses then, though, studying Waverly carefully, making sure that moving this fast is truly what she wants.

_Always with the making sure…_

“Please,” she begs again. It’s a raw, plaintive plea that has Nicole complying immediately, sinking two fingers inside her, slipping right in to the knuckle because she’s oh-so wet, and maybe she should be embarrassed about being this turned on, but jesus it feels too good.

They moan in unison as Waverly’s insides flutter, adjusting, and then Nicole begins to stroke slowly in and out. Every thrust brings an exquisite fullness, and every time she withdraws Waverly whimpers at the loss, hips rising, chasing after those fingers.

Nicole’s touch is gentle, strategic, her brow furrowed as she focuses entirely on Waverly’s pleasure. It’s adorable and selfless. Maybe a little _too_ selfless.

As nice as this feels, she wants Nicole to _take_ from her as well. Craves her rough possession. Needs her to surrender to that base, instinctive part of herself that she keeps tamped down under all of that quivering restraint.

She digs her nails into Nicole’s shoulders. “Harder...please, baby,” she urges, “I want to feel you in the morning.”

Nicole’s hand stills inside her. “Waverly…” There’s a helpless note in her voice and a startled look in her eyes.

She clasps the redhead’s jaw in her hands, forcing her to look at her. “I’m _yours_ Nicole,” she vows. “I want to feel that when you touch me. Don’t hold back...I won’t break.”

Nicole rapid blinks at her, processing her words, a fierce battle clearly raging within. Then she slides her fingers out of Waverly, out of her underwear even, leaving her bereft and throbbing, and for a panicked second she thinks she’s got this all wrong.

But then the redhead yanks down Waverly’s panties, with such force she’s pretty sure the elastic rips, and dips down to capture her mouth in a feverish kiss.

“ _My_ Waverly,” Nicole breathes against her lips. There’s a helpless edge to her voice still, but there’s nothing helpless about the way she thrusts two fingers back inside of her.

She whimpers at the sudden fullness, arching into Nicole’s touch. That whimper turns to a low, throaty moan when she begins to move inside her, harder and faster than before, and Waverly’s hips rise to prolong each stroke, their bodies meeting with such force the tired mattress beneath them creaks and squeaks in complaint.

This is the sort of love-making she was craving. Wild and tempestuous as the storm-wrought lake earlier; a pounding, a thrashing, a foaming kind of thunder, all desperate hunger.

Pressure builds low in her belly, a familiar ache that’s almost unwelcome, because it’s too soon, dammit, she wants this moment, this connection, to last. But then Nicole changes her angle, presses the heel of her palm right where she needs it most, and _sweet jesus_ …

“Please, baby, oh god, please,” she gasps, begging for release now. But there’s no god here. Only sex, and sweat, and Nicole loving her into dust.

“I love being inside you,” Nicole husks, thrusting deeper, something primal in her eyes. “And I don’t want anybody else to _ever_ be inside you, Waverly.”

Her entire body throbs at that, because she wants it too, wants this to be _it_ , for them to belong to each other. Even though it’s a little dirty, a little base, an instinctive, animal urge.

“Yes...yours, _only_ yours.” She claws at the redhead’s back, nails unable to bring her close enough.

But then Nicole lets out a desperate sound, an exasperated sort of groan, and she hangs over Waverly, muscles trembling, her hand stilling inside her again.

“I’m jealous of everything that touches you, Waves…I am,” Nicole confesses, voice breaking, chest heaving, “but you don’t belong to me.” She leans down and brushes tender lips to her brow, cheeks, temples. “You don’t belong to anybody.”

Waverly makes to protest, because dammit she’s _just fine_ with Nicole wanting her in this primal way, but the redhead starts to move inside her again, slowly now, loving her soft as a whisper, stealing her breath away.

And suddenly, it’s as if they’ve passed into the eye of a hurricane. Now they’re two soft bodies in one tiny bed, coming together in hushed quiet, moving like the smoothest of music. Nicole holds her gaze, guiding her through every exquisite thrust, regarding her with a love beyond owning, a love beyond the body and its needs.

Under that adoring gaze, those devout fingers, she begins to come undone. A familiar panic rises in her throat, and Nicole registers it. “You deserve more than a hard fuck, Waverly. You deserve everything,” she whispers, sliding sweetly inside her again. She curls her fingers this time, pressing against that swollen, sensitive spot, making Waverly moan. “ _This_ is me not holding back, baby...and I’m scared too.”

She sees it there now, for the first time, how much it costs Nicole to love this much. It’s a look so bare and vulnerable Waverly almost flinches. Then the look changes to a plea, _fall-with-me_ , and she almost turns away, because it’s terrifying, a love this big, this raw.

Instead, she raises a trembling hand to her girlfriend’s cheek, and lets herself fall. Nicole smiles down at her, a dimpled smile so precious, so joyful, it’s like rain in the desert. She curls her fingers inside Waverly again, _just so_ , and oh god, that does it...

She tips over the edge, soars over it, clenching wildly around Nicole’s fingers, hips jerking, thighs shaking, clutching knotted fistfuls of the bedsheet.

For a moment there’s nothing but warm, velvety dark bliss, and she finally understands why the French call this _la petite mort_ —the little death. But then sound and light return in a riotous rush and now she’s seeing in Technicolor, hearing in high fidelity, and holy crap, she’s moaning like some animal thing, so loud her throat feels raw.

_Jesus, I hope these walls are thick..._

“I’ve got you, Waves,” Nicole soothes, kissing her damp forehead, her fingers gentling her through her release, helping her ride those last few waves. “I’ve got you.”

She’s wet and aching and so sensitive that it feels like moving an inch is impossible, so she goes with it, letting Nicole take care of her.

When the world stops spinning and her breathing finally steadies, Nicole makes to withdraw her fingers. But Waverly seizes her wrist, holding her in place. “Stay, please.” Even though she’s tender, she can’t bear to sever this connection.

“‘Kay.” Nicole collapses half on top of Waverly, and she feels a pang of guilt, because her poor baby’s completely spent, all trembling biceps and glazed eyes.

She runs her fingers through Nicole’s damp locks. “Get some rest now,” she urges, whisper-soft, tracing gentle patterns between her shoulder blades with her free hand.

“Mmkay.” Nicole nuzzles into Waverly’s chest, making a pillow of her breastbone, a lullaby of her heartbeat. “I love you, Waves,” she mumbles, her words sleep-slurred but fervent, “love you so much.”

Waverly’s breath hitches. Straight after sex—especially after being pleasured like _that_ —has to be the worst possible moment to finally confess her own feelings. But she aches to, and she’s pretty sure the words are about to climb right out of her throat of their own accord, anyways.

“Nicole, I—”

The redhead lets out a cute snuffle-snort, her hand going slack and slipping from between Waverly’s thighs, as she succumbs to off-switch sleep for what must be the first time ever.

Well shoot, she’s missed her chance. Again.

_Tomorrow....I’ll find the right moment tomorrow._

In time, the soft edges of sleep claim her too, and she slips into a dream that will come back to her in the morning only as a feeling of indescribable warmth.

A dream that has Nicole in a starched blue uniform down on bended knee, the perfect little house, the perfect family…

///

  
Waverly wakes up with a full heart, to glorious morning sunshine streaming in through the window, dazzling her.

She rolls over, smiling, expecting to come nose-to-nose with a certain sexy, naked redhead, but instead there’s…nothing. Only a dent beside her in the pillow they shared all night.

_Huh. So much for morning sex._

She flips on her stomach and buries her face in that dent. It’s still toasty warm, and it smells of vanilla and soap and something just...Nicole. The scent grounds her, but it’s no substitute for the real thing.

_It’s fine. She’s probably taking a shower, or making breakfast…_

She gets dressed in a rush, though, shimmying into some non-wrecked panties and buttoning herself into Nicole’s plaid shirt from the day before. Amusingly, it’s so long it lands mid-thigh, longer than some of her skirts.

The bathroom’s empty, but the mirror’s all steamed up and the citrusy fragrance of Nicole’s shampoo lingers in the air, so she can’t be far away.

She peeks into the other bedroom, where Wynonna and Chrissy are still dead-to-the-world, because _of course_. Ham Solo gives an adorable squeak at the sight of her, though, sensing breakfast. He scampers off the bed, taking an ungainly tumble on the way down to greet her.

“C’mon little guy, let’s get you fed…”

There’s no sign of Nicole in the kitchen either, so once she’s tended to Ham Solo she wanders outside. She leans over the railing, heart swelling at her first real glimpse of the pastel grandeur that is the Palo Duro Canyon.

Suspended between a Texas sky so blue it should be its own crayon color, and the massive pink expanse beneath her, she feels like an infinitesimal speck.

The storm last night has left its mark on the terrain, bruising trees and bending mesquite. But there’s a sense of renewal in the air, in the dewy leaves gleaming in the pale morning sunshine, in the washed clean earth. She feels it too, feels like she’s been stripped bare, in the best possible way.

_If only Nicole was here, everything would be perfect._

It’s too early to panic. She’s probably just off doing that morning exercise routine she’s so flipping religious about.

Still, they’ll be in Dallas tonight…

Waverly grips the railing hard, wrestling with the urge to go check she’s not marathon swimming in that darned lake again.

Deciding that might tip her into crazy, clingy girlfriend territory she returns to the kitchen, channeling her nervous energy into whipping up some pancakes instead.

Wrapped in a floral print apron, mixing bowl tucked under her arm, she flits around the sun-dappled kitchen, sipping mint tea and humming _Shape of You_ as her pancake batter comes together.

The gentle activity helps, but she can’t quite shake her unease at Nicole’s mysterious absence. She hums louder, trying to cover it, and that’s when she notices Ham Solo by her feet, floppy ears twitching in time with the tune she’s humming.

Well snap, they’ve got themselves a musical pig.

She beams at him. “Ed Sheeran fan, huh, little guy?”

Spurred on by Ham Solo’s enthusiasm she progresses to singing, and soon she’s dancing too, sliding from sink to stove in one long groove, belting out the lyrics into a broom handle like she’s performing live at Madison Square Garden.

She closes her eyes as she hits the chorus, getting really into it, and when she opens them again Nicole’s there, leaning against the wall across from her, James Dean style, a thumb tucked into the belt loops of her denim cutoffs, brown eyes sparkling with amusement.

_Well this is flipping embarrassing…_

She drops the broom with a loud _thwack_ , her last note hanging suspended in the air between them.

“Don’t stop your little concert on my account, baby,” Nicole drawls, flashing a megawatt smile. “It’s hella sexy…also, apparently you’re in love with someone’s body,” she makes air quotes around the lyrics Waverly was singing, “and I’m really hoping it’s mine…”

Waverly’s gaze dips to Nicole’s dimples, the snug white Killers _Battle Born_ tee that’s clinging to her in all the right places, those perfect goddamn legs...

_Uh-huh, oh I’m in love with your body alright._

She comes back to herself then, lust giving way to intense relief that Nicole’s _here_ , safe, and she’s struck by a near-overwhelming impulse to throw herself into the redhead’s arms.

“Where were you?” she asks instead, picking up the broom and frowning. “I was worried.”

Nicole’s smile slips. “I’m sorry...I thought I’d be back before you woke up.” She pushes off the wall, whisking an arm out from behind her, producing a wildflower, a delicate thing, flaming red petals tipped with yellow. “It took me a while to find one of these.” She offers it to Waverly by the stem, almost shyly.

_Oof, my heart._

Waverly accepts it and presses it to her nose, drawing the sweetness in, letting it cling.

“It’s a firewheel,” Nicole tells her, a delicious lilt in her voice. “A firewheel for my fiery baby.”

Waverly cocks a brow and a hip. “Fiery, huh?”

Nicole grins and holds up her thumb and forefinger, a gap between them. “Just a tiny bit.”

She snorts. More than a _tiny_ _bit_. She brings the flower to her nose again. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.” But it’s not nearly as beautiful, or sweet, as the girl standing in front of her.

Nicole steps closer, gaze impossibly soft. “You have some flour…” She brushes a thumb along Waverly’s cheekbone, dusting it away. Her touch lingers, and Waverly melts into the gentleness of her fingertips as she traces every curve and edge of her face in silent reverence.

It’s different between them this morning. As good as it was before, there’s a new level of intimacy now, a closeness that comes from having given each other a part of themselves that can’t be taken back. The energy between them is more intense than usual, too, all spark and pop, and she’s not quite sure how to handle it.

“I’m gonna put this flower in some water,” she squeaks, overwhelmed, retreating deep into the kitchen to retrieve an earthenware vase she spotted earlier.

But Nicole follows, moving in behind her as she fills the vase at the sink, pressing close. She fingers the hem of Waverly’s borrowed shirt. “Interesting fashion choice,” she chuckles, “you know your sister’s going to blow a gasket when she sees you in this, right?”

A playful _maybe_ gets stuck in her throat as Nicole pushes back her hair to kiss a line up her neck, inciting a delicious shiver. Desire swells in her, rising up like a wave in a room without windows.

She grips the edge of the sink, steadying herself. “Will it always be like this?” It’s an incomplete thought spoken in a bare whisper. But Nicole catches it, understands. “I think so,” she murmurs, hot breath skating across her pulse point, “I _hope_ so.” Then her soft hands slip under Waverly’s shirt and skim up her bare thighs, and she’s overcome by a crazy, wild urge to do things in this kitchen they absolutely shouldn’t.

But she’s forgotten the vase. It overflows in spectacular style, water spouting high, splashing her in the chest, Nicole in the chin, and sending Ham Solo skedaddling out of the kitchen with a disgruntled squeal.

She turns to face Nicole, and then they’re both giggling like idiots, the sexual tension and what remains of her shyness from earlier evaporating in the silliness of the moment.

“Mornin’,” Nicole drawls softly.  
  
Waverly tangles her fingers in her girlfriend’s t-shirt. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Mhm. Better than I have in weeks.”

It’s true that there are no tell-tale dark smudges under Nicole’s eyes today. But that strain, that tightness in her jaw, is back. Waverly knows it won’t be gone until this business with her mother is settled once and for all.

There’s a hopefulness in Nicole’s eyes this morning that worries her more, though. Because she’s got a hunch her girlfriend’s heading for heartbreak in Dallas; that her mother can’t or won’t be what she needs. And when you love as big as Nicole does, there’s an awful long way to fall if you get hurt.

Oblivious to her concern, Nicole’s attention is focused on her lips. She leans in, and Waverly wants to live inside this second before they kiss for the first time all day, in the sweet anticipation of it…

But just as their lips brush Nicole draws back, sniffing at the air. “Baby…I think something’s burning…”

Waverly’s glance flicks to stove. Shitsticks! The skillet...she forgot that she left it on to pre-heat.

Flustered, she lunges for the pan, hustling to get it off the heat before it triggers the smoke detector. She grabs it by the handle...the red hot cast iron handle.

Hot, searing pain blazes through her palm, accompanied by a horrible sizzling sound. _Motherfricker!_ She snatches her hand away with an agonized yelp.

Nicole takes the pan off the heat with an oven mitt before rushing to her side. “Waves...baby, let me see.” She gently pries Waverly’s clenched fist open. There’s an angry red welt criss-crossing her palm. Nicole winces. “Ouch...we need to get that under some cold water, stat.” She guides her over to the faucet.

The cool water brings instant, sweet relief. “Hold it there for a few minutes, okay?” Nicole instructs. “I’m gonna go get the Neosporin and some gauze from your purse. I’ll be right back.” She pecks Waverly on the forehead and dashes off, leaving her alone to contemplate the series of minor calamities this morning’s turned into.

By the time Nicole returns—laden down with medical supplies, cheeks flushed from hurrying back to her—the pain’s dulled considerably. It’s only a superficial burn, in the end, but the redhead insists on cleaning and dressing it anyways.

Nicole’s hands go to Waverly’s hips, and the next thing she knows she’s been hoisted up onto the kitchen counter. She squeaks, startled, and Nicole smiles. “Better access this way, baby.”

She’s not complaining. It’s kinda nice being at eye level with her girlfriend for a change. In fact, she might actually be a smidge taller…

Nicole cradles Waverly’s palm in her own, dabbing at her burn with Neosporin, her touch delicate but sure. Waverly falls into a kind of trance, lulled by that touch…by those hands that always hold her like the finest porcelain, never greedy or possessive, even when she invites them to be, as she did last night.

“You make a really sexy nurse, Nicole,” she teases, a callback to _that_ line in the trailer in the Idaho.

Nicole laughs, high and lilting. “Yeah, I deserved that…not exactly my subtlest moment, huh?”

_I wish you’d been less subtle. I wish we hadn’t wasted so much time dancing around this…_

Nicole begins to wrap her palm in gauze, leaning closer, her touch tender. Sunlight streaks through the kitchen window, drenching her in gold, setting her hair and lashes ablaze. She radiates such a profound goodness in that moment. It dazzles Waverly, makes her feel lucky. So goddamn lucky.

And suddenly she can’t go another second choking back _I love you_. She feels it in her chest, in her shoulders, in every breath, everywhere at once.

Nicole looks up. “What is it, Waves?”

“I love you,” she blurts, voice steady and true, even as her heart slams against her ribs, a wild thing. “I really, really love you.”

Nicole goes perfectly still. Finally, she blinks, her gaze dropping to Waverly’s bandaged palm, then up to that place on her cheek she brushed flour from, and then across to the firewheel in the vase, as if she’s trying to figure out what it is about _this_ ordinary moment that compelled Waverly to say it.  
  
“I’ve felt it for a long time, Nicole. Maybe even longer than you. I-I fought it, though.” She takes the redhead’s hands in hers, brings her fingers to her lips. “I was scared. I’m not brave like you. But then you got bitten by that damn rattler…and I just....” She trails off, not quite sure how to voice her realization that love doesn’t ask permission, that it simply _is_.

The beginning of a smile plays on Nicole’s lips. “I know.” She slow blinks at Waverly, still dazed. “I mean…I kinda had an inkling.”

Of course she did. Because, _telepathy_ , and Waverly’s done everything bar putting her feelings up in flashing neon the last few days.

“I’m sorry it took so long.” She ducks her head, fixing her gaze on their entwined hands. “This thing between us…it’s hella intense, you know? Scary intense. I-I think I wanted to love you in a way that didn’t hurt. Now I know that isn’t love at all.”

There’s a part of her that’s bound to go on believing that everybody will leave her, in time. Maybe it’s embedded in the marrow of who she is. But she’s done holding back, done bracing, because of it.

“Hey now.” Nicole steps closer, positioning herself between Waverly’s legs, tipping her chin up. “I love you, Waverly Earp, and I’ll take whatever you can give me, whenever you can give it. I know how hard it is for you to say what you’re feeling…and I know why…”

Nicole’s eyes are soft, warm like butterscotch in the golden haze filtering through the kitchen window. Waverly could drown in those eyes, in the love reflected there, and, oh, what a beautiful drowning it would be.

“…I don’t need your words, Waves, just so long as I have you. But I _am_ grateful for them, anyhow.”

Nicole smiles at her then, a glorious, dimpled smile, as joyful as the one that made Waverly come undone last night, and that reaction alone is reason enough to have finally found her words.

It’s a reminder that she’s not the only one stepping out onto the ledge here. Nicole may be more carefree with her heart—too willing to keep hoping on things that don’t love her back enough, in Waverly’s opinion—but that doesn’t make her any less vulnerable.

Nicole’s looking at her now in that same awestruck, incredulous way she once looked at a Monarch butterfly that landed on her open palm. “I won’t hurt you, Waverly,” she promises, voice solemn.

_I won’t hurt you either._

Maybe this moment calls for a grand, sweeping Notebook-style kiss, but Waverly just wants to hold Nicole. And so that’s what she does, wrapping her legs around her hips, arms around her neck, clasping her so close, so tight, that she can feel the slow, steady drawl of her heartbeat against her chest.

She rests her chin on Nicole’s shoulder, her gaze drawn to the window, to that huge blue Texas sky, so calm now after the violence of the night before.

A shiver of foreboding runs down her spine. Sensing it, Nicole rubs her cheek against Waverly’s and whispers _I won’t hurt you_ , again.

For once, her girlfriend’s got it wrong. She’s not scared of Nicole hurting her, she’s scared of Nicole getting hurt.

Because they’ll be in Dallas tonight, where another, different kind of storm looms.

And there’s nothing she can do, nothing she can say, that’ll save the girl she loves from her own beautiful, reckless heart…

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you if you made it all the way through this one. :)
> 
> This chapter was something a little different, quieter and more serious. Some of that was the nature of the material, and some of it was, well, just me. 
> 
> This is the bit where I apologize profusely for how long this took. Unfortunately those migraines I mentioned at the end of the prior chapter turned out to be something more serious, and writing was impossible for a while there. But I promised you guys when we started way back in July that I’d finish this thing, and we will get there. Even if I’m fighting for every darned sentence. :)
> 
> This chapter was heavy on the Nicole back-story, something I’m well aware veers from canon (yeah we’re in an AU, but still). I conceived this before S3 when her history was a blank slate so I hope it doesn’t jar too badly. 
> 
> In the next chapter we’ll have a tiny bit more road tripping at the start, then get into this Dallas stuff proper. It’ll be tighter, with more conflict than this one, and you can expect one last dash of Wayhaught and Wynhaught angst. Ch.11 is currently slated as an epilogue on the Pacific Coast Highway, something happier and lighter. :)
> 
> Thank you so much to those of you who've left comments and to the people that have reached out on Twitter. You’re all lovely people. :) A huge thank you to LuckyWantsToKnow for beta reading this thing. Thanks for your encouragement and your friendship through a rough time, Lucky. Thanks also to Delta_one for feeding me Texas facts and pics. All mistakes are, however, of course my own.
> 
> * Yes I know the pig, Ham Solo, is ridiculous. Just roll with it. ;)  
> * 25% of armadillos do indeed carry leprosy. Don’t be eating ‘em (some people in Texas do!).  
> * The cabin in this chapter is based on the CCC built cabins in the Palo Duro State Park. They are right on the edge of the canyon, with spectacular views. I took a few liberties with the floor-plan, though.  
> * And, oh god, the sex. Please yell at me if you think I should bump this to an E rating. I have this crazy notion that if I avoid using the “c” word I can avoid that, but… ;)
> 
> If you'd like to shoot the breeze, or ask about update timing etc, my Twitter is: @McconachieEm
> 
> Update on Chapter 10 (June 7) - Still writing slowly guys, sorry, but it's coming along.


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